I Never Meant to Love You
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: Set in 1918. Jack has tried to move on but can't. When he goes back to New York to stay with an old friend, he never imagines how their night at the theatre will turn out.
1. Chapter 1

_New York, March 1918_

Alan slowly wiped his glasses with a handkerchief before putting them on and turning to face Jack. "Stay here tonight?" he said, a trace of incredulity in his voice. "Again? Jack, you can't be serious. You need to get out more. You're young—"

"I'm twenty-six."

Alan held up his hands in mock horror. "Nearly thirty," he said. "So, I guess life gave up on me a long time ago, then, after all, I did turn thirty-eight last month. I should just start staying home all the time like you."

Jack frowned. "That's not what I meant," he said.

Alan dropped into the chair across from him. "Fine. What did you mean?" he asked. Jack looked down at the half-finished drawing on the table. "Oh, I see," Alan said. "We're not going to talk again. Okay. If that's what you want." Shrugging, he leaned back in his chair. "But whatever it is that's bothering you won't go away until you tell someone about it."

Slowly, Jack began to draw. His eyes narrowed in concentration; maybe this one would turn out right. So far, it was perfect, but they all started out well, not falling apart until near the end. Eventually, the weight of Alan's stare was too heavy. "Who said anything's bothering me?" Jack murmured without looking up.

"You've said it. Everything about you says it." Alan sighed. "I'm not your family, but I thought I was your friend. You showed up here, remember? I haven't seen you in ten years, haven't heard from you in five. I thought you were dead! And now here you are." Jack avoided meeting his eyes. Alan continued, his voice rising slightly. "You came here last month asking if you could stay for awhile, and I've let you. I didn't ask any questions. I haven't asked for money, though I could since you've finally gotten some, and you still owe me—"

Jack's voice was hard. "If it bothers you that much I'll pay you back," he said. His eyes were flinty. "I didn't realize how important money had become for you. Last time I checked you had more than enough. What happened? Your brother stop sending the checks?"

A mixture of shock and pain flashed across Alan's face. "No, he hasn't," he replied coldly.

Jack's features softened. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was—I shouldn'tve brought that up." He hunched his shoulders, covering the drawing with his hands. It wasn't going to turn out right; the shape of the face was wrong. The lines weren't forming the way they should. He pressed his hand flat against it, as if somehow that would transfer the image in his memory to the paper.

"You're going to get lines around your mouth if you keep frowning like that," Alan said.

Jack forced a laugh. "That's a concern for me," he said drily.

"You didn't frown this much before," Alan continued. "I won't ask again, okay? But something is wrong. I can see it. Anyone who looks at you can see it. You're carrying something, and it's making you miserable. And sitting around my house for the rest of your life isn't going to fix anything."

Finally, Jack spoke. "I loved her. I don't know why. It happened so fast…it's like she was always there, like there was this perfect space in my life, just for her, only I didn't know until I met her."

"What happened?"

"Does it matter?" Jack said, quickly getting up from the table. "She's not here, is she?" Without realizing it, he crumpled the drawing in his fist. "And before you say anything," he went on, "I've tried to get over it. I've been with other women." He spoke quickly, the words pouring out of him like water released from a dam. "But they weren't her. A year went by—it was a year before I tried, and I thought if I just found someone who wasn't like her. Who didn't look like her or talk her or remind me of her—if I could like someone that was nothing like her, than I would be alright. I would be getting over it, you know?" Alan just nodded. "Because it would mean I could love her, but I was still able to love someone else. Only it didn't work." He sighed heavily. "I couldn't stop thinking, Rose wouldn't like this. Or, Rose would go look at paintings with me."

"What did you do?" Alan pressed quietly.

"I decided to try and find someone more like her." A faraway look came into Jack's eyes. "I figured what I needed was a balance. Similar, but different enough so it wasn't crazy, so I wasn't just trying to recreate her. It'd been three years. I needed to move on, and I just didn't want to be alone."

 _New Orleans, November 1917_

 _"You're doing it again!" Grace shrieked. She brushed past him and down the hall._

 _"I don't know what you're talking about," he protested, following her into the bedroom._

 _She slammed a suitcase down on the bed. "Yes, you do," she spat. "This isn't the first time—you've been doing it since we met! It's just been getting worse." She threw random pieces of clothing into the suitcase. "And I've had it. I don't want to live with a man and the ghost of his former lover. I didn't agree to that. That's not what you promised me!" Tears stung her eyes._

 _"Grace, I'm sorry," Jack said, taking her by the arms. "I care about you. I don't want to hurt you; I don't you to be unhappy. And I don't want you to leave."_

 _"Well, I do. And I think it really is what you want, so then you can be alone with her. Why did you even bother getting involved with me?"_

 _She moved to turn away, but he put his hand under her chin. "Because you made me laugh," he said. "You're beautiful. You like traveling as much as I do. I like being with you; we're good together."_

 _"You aren't in love with me."_

 _"I never said I was," he replied. "But maybe…maybe I could be."_

 _New York, March 1918_

"This'll be good for you," Alan said. "Just wait." Jack studied the posters hanging in the lobby. There was nothing extraordinary about them; they were standard portraits of each play's cast with the title at the bottom. The small lobby was crowded, and the sounds of laughter and small talk melded together into a pleasant hum. It was an obscure, off-Broadway theatre, but judging from the crowd it wouldn't remain that way for long. Jack's gaze moved around the room, a smile playing about his lips as he took in the mix of upper-class art patrons, adventurous middle class couples, and bohemians of various types. Maybe Alan was right; maybe it had been too long since he had gone out into the world.

"What play are we seeing again?" he asked as they filed into the theatre.

"I can't remember the title," Alan said. "It's something about women—mothers and daughters, money—" Settling into his seat, he opened the program. "One of the actresses wrote it, or at least that's what I've heard. You never know with theatre rumors. A first time writer will say anything to get people to come see their show."

The hum of voices faded as the lights went down. Jack leaned back in his seat, letting himself relax. The curtain rose, and his heart stopped. There she was, standing in the spotlight, looking out at the crowd—at him, or so it seemed. Jack moved forward, his hands curling around the back of the seat in front of him. "Jack, are you alright?" Alan whispered. Jack didn't hear him. He touched his shoulder. "Jack?"

It was little more than a ragged whisper. "Rose."

Jack watched the first half of the play, but he didn't see anything but Rose. He heard her voice, but focusing on her words was almost impossible. Her presence was too overwhelming. How was it possible? She died. Didn't she? Where did she go? Jack stood up as the lights came on. Applause filled the air around him. He moved toward the door, suddenly filled with a need to find his way backstage. "Why couldn't I find her?" he asked himself.

The backstage area was a maze, with set pieces everywhere and what seemed like dozens of people all moving at once. He quickly moved through the crowd, ignoring the puzzled looks cast his way. Finally, at the far end, he saw a series of doors marked "Dressing Rooms." He resisted the impulse to throw open every door, settling instead for loud, insistent knocks. It took four tries before the right voice answered.

"Millie, we have another ten minutes," Rose called. "And I need them!" Slowly, his hands beginning to shake, Jack opened the door. Rose sat with her back to him. Her head was down, an open script on the table in front of her. "Go ahead and come in," she said. "Just, please, close the door." Jack gently pushed the door closed. He tried to speak but couldn't. "This is more difficult than I anticipated," Rose said, flipping through the script. "You know, when I wrote the play I didn't intend to actually be in it. Why are you just standing—" she began, turning around. The words caught in her throat. "You're wearing glasses," Jack said softly.

She nodded. "I need them to read. I haven't had them very long."

Jack took a step toward her. "You—" A series of rapid knocks cut him off.

"Rose?" Millie called. "You go back on in five minutes."

Rose's voice shook. "Alright," she called back. "I'll be there." She stood up, taking off her glasses. "I have to go," she said. They moved toward one another. A soft cry escaped her throat as her hands touched his chest. "You're real," she said, as if to herself. His arm curled around her waist, pressing her closer; her hands moved to his neck. His skin was warm. His pulse thudded comfortingly beneath her fingertips. She lightly traced the outline of his lips with her thumb and was rewarded with a kiss on her palm. "And you're real," he said. "I—"

A fist pounded on the door. "Rose, what are you doing?" a male voice yelled. "The curtain was supposed to go back up five minutes ago! Get out here!"

"I have to go," Rose said. "I have to finish…I can't just walk out in the middle…"

"I—I know. I'll go watch the rest. And we'll talk when it's over."

"Yes."

"And you'll still be here then."

"And so will you."

"And you'll be my Rose."

Tears filled her eyes. "Yes," she said, pressing her lips to his hands.

"There you are !" Alan exclaimed when Jack reached his seat. "I was starting to get a little worried, what with the way you just ran out before."

"I had somethin I needed to do."

"Apparently, so did our cast. Intermission has gone over by almost ten extra minutes. I don't really care, but everyone else seems to. This Rose Dawson sure knows how to get people talking, that's for sure."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. "What did you say? Rose what?"

Alan stared at him. "Dawson. It's right there in the program. Is she a relation? It's not an uncommon name, is it?"

So, that explained it, or at least, part of it. But hadn't he looked for her under that name? Was it possible she hadn't started using it yet? Jack pushed all the questions aside as the curtain went back up.

….

He was standing in the wings when she left the stage for the last time. "I don't have any idea what it was about, but I loved it," he said.

She laughed. Taking his hand, she headed for her dressing room. "I thought you were watching?"

"I was, but all I saw was you."

Once the door was closed behind them, she sank into her chair. For the first time, Jack noticed how tired she looked; her stage make-up was smeared, and her hair was coming unpinned. But she had an air of accomplishment about her. He dropped to his knees and took her hands. "You're even more beautiful like this."

"Jack, we need to talk," she said.

He nodded. "I know," he said. "There's a lot to talk about. But before you say anything else—"

"No, please, Jack let me go first. I—" She searched for the right words. "You—"

"Don't tell me you're married," he joked. "Anything but that."

She smiled weakly. "No, I'm not. But-"

"Well, what is it?"

The door burst open before Rose could respond. "Mama!" the girl cried happily, running to Rose.

"I was supposed to meet you at home, darling," Rose said. "Did Marie bring you?" The girl nodded, her reddish-blonde curls brushing Jack's cheek. "Did she bring you straight back here?" She nodded again. "Good," Rose said. Her eyes met Jack's as the child turned toward him. "Mama, who's that?" she asked.

"I told you we needed to talk," Rose said with a fearful laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack was speechless. Even on the rare occasion that he entertained the possibility that Rose was alive somewhere, he had never thought they had a child together _. No,_ he corrected himself, _she had a child. You weren't there._ He felt sick with guilt. He should have known better. He shouldn't have put her in that position. He felt both pairs of eyes watching him. The little girl stayed close to Rose, holding her hand. She looked up at him with a wary curiosity. Her eyes were the same blue as his. He was about to speak when the door opened again. A dark haired woman hurried in. She didn't look much older than Rose, if at all. "There you are," she said to the child. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Syvvy, did you wander off?" Rose asked.

"I came to find you," Sylvia answered.

"That's still wandering off; you know you aren't supposed to do that," Rose said firmly. "You don't want to get lost, do you?" Sylvia shook her head. "Then stay with Marie, alright? I'll be out in a few minutes, and we'll go home." As she was led away, Sylvia eyed Jack. Marie tossed a glance at him as well; unlike Sylvia's, hers wasn't particularly friendly. When they were gone, Jack said, "Syvvy?"

"Sylvia."

"That's pretty," he said. "She's—she's mine?"

Rose nodded. "Yes." No longer able to stand his gaze, she said, "I need to wash this make-up off." She hurried over to the sink. She scrubbed hard, grateful for the distraction.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have to be. I was there too."

"Not just for—I'm sorry about just showing up like this. And I knew what could happen. I shouldn't have—I thought we would be together," he said.

She looked at him in the mirror. "I thought so too." She grabbed her hair and pinned it up, not bothering to brush it. He reached for her as she turned to face him. "I have to go," she said. "But—"

"Let me go with you?" he pleaded.

"No. No, you can't. It's too sudden. Come in about an hour," she said. She ripped a blank page from her script and wrote down her address. "She'll be in bed, and we can talk."

"I'll be there. One hour."

She nodded. "Alright."

Jack wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. But he contented himself with squeezing her hands.

….

"Lost you again," Alan said as Jack entered the empty lobby. "Where do you keep running off to?"

"I had to talk to someone."

Alan took in Jack's fidgeting, his almost-feverish eyes. "A girl?" he said.

"Not just a girl. Her," Jack replied.

"Her? As in _the_ girl, the Great Love?"

"Don't say it like that. I do love her. I gotta go, alright? I'm going to meet her," Jack said. "I'll see you later."

He tried not to hurry, nut he still arrived with half an hour to spare. He sat on the steps of the neighboring house, hoping not to draw attention to himself. It was a good neighborhood. The houses were good-sized and well-cared for. Clearly, she was doing better than he'd thought.

He didn't smoke very often anymore, but now, he was grateful he had a few cigarettes in his jacket pocket. He needed something to keep himself busy.

It was really her. She was really alive. She was an actress, just like she'd said she might be. And a writer. And a mother. "She did it alone," he said. "She did all of it alone." Pride mingled with guilt as he imagined the difficulties she must have faced. While he'd been wandering, with no responsibilities, no obligations, she'd been here, taking care of their daughter. Building a life. What had he done with the past six years? He was in nearly the same position as when they last saw each other. The only difference was, now he had a little money and job prospects.

He knocked the moment the hour struck. The door opened before he could move his hand. Rose stood before him, barefoot, in loose-fitting green dress. Her hair had been brushed and re-pinned. "Come in," she said with a small smile.

They stepped into a short hallway that led to a set of steps. There were doors to the right and left. Rose hesitated. Where should she take him? The living room seemed too public, but if she took him upstairs they'd most likely be overheard. Marie probably wasn't asleep yet. "We'll talk in here," she said, leading him through the door on the right. It opened into a small kitchen. "I was going to have dinner," she said, slightly apologetically. She gestured toward the table. "You can sit down. Do you want something?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't eat now."

"Neither can I," she admitted, dropping into a chair. "Before, I was famished. I haven't eaten all day, but now…that just doesn't matter anymore." She felt herself beginning to cry. Emotions fought within her. Joy. Fear. Disbelief. Relief. She couldn't contain them all. She covered her face with her hands and tried to cry quietly. The next moment, Jack's arms were around her. He hugged her tightly. She clung to him, letting her tears soak his jacket. He used her shoulder to muffle his own sobs.

When she couldn't cry anymore, Rose raised her head. "I'm sorry," she said. She didn't let go of him. Their faces were just inches apart. Without thinking, she let herself kiss his forehead. And then his cheeks. Finally, their lips met. It was overwhelming. Six years of grief, desire, and love mixed with the joy and relief of finally meeting again. It might never have ended if not for the sound of footsteps overhead. "Is that—" he began.

"It's Marie."

"The girl from the theatre?" he said. "She lives with you."

"We live with her, to be more accurate," Rose answered. "It's her house. I think I can eat now," she added. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Yeah, actually, I am."

"Is French toast alright?" she asked, crossing over to the cabinets.

"Anything is fine. Let me help," he offered.

As they ate, he said, "Rose, I—I wanna stay. With you. Or you with me. I don't care how it works. I just want us together." He looked into her eyes. "I want us all together."

"Are you certain you know what you're saying?" she asked.

"Of course, I—"

"You know what you would be giving up? The freedom you won't have anymore? Always having to think about us first?"

"I know all of that," he said. "If I hafta be alone to be free, then I don't want to be. I'm so tired of feeling empty, like there's a hole in my life. I'm tired of missing you, of trying to find you in other women. I thought about us having babies," he added. "Back then. I thought about what our lives would be like together, that night after the party. I never thought you'd be alone for it, though." He took her hands. "I wish you hadn't been. I wish I'd been there with you."

"That doesn't matter anymore," she said. "We survived. We're fine now. That's all that matters."

"It must've been so hard."

"It was."

"What did you do? How did you get through it?" he asked.

"I stayed in a room offered to survivors," she explained. "And I searched until I found a job as a waitress. I moved into my own room. It was tiny and drafty, but it was cheap. No-one knew where I was or who I was. I didn't know I was pregnant yet. I worked as long as I could and saved everything I could, once I found out. But it wasn't enough. I had to take care of her," she said. "It didn't matter how."

Jack tightened his grip on her hands, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What did you do?"

"Do you remember when Cal put his coat on me?"

He nodded. "You didn't go to him, did you?"

"In a way," she replied. "There was money in the pockets. A great deal of money. I didn't use it all, not even close, but I used some. I couldn't find another job, and if I had, who would have stayed with Sylvia? I wouldn't have touched it. I wouldn't have taken anything from him, if not for her."

"I shoulda been there," he said. "If I'd—"

"If you'd what?"

"I should've found you," he said. "I looked but not hard enough. You weren't out with the other survivors. At first, I thought you were with your mother and Cal, but I knew you wouldn't go back. I just wanted to believe you were alive."

"I was so sick; I don't even remember being on the _Carpathia_ until the last day," she said. "They said it was a miracle I lived. I can't believe I managed to be pregnant through it all. I was so surprised when I found out," she went on, a faraway look in her eyes. "And terrified. I barely felt capable of taking care of myself, let alone a baby. I told people I was a widow. I wore a fake ring. I felt a little like a widow. When she was born, the doctor told me I shouldn't keep her because I couldn't take care of her properly, by myself, and how would I find another husband?" She frowned at the memory.

"How'd you end up here?" he asked.

"I met Marie—it was July of 1913. She'd lost her family, but she inherited everything. I always took Sylvia to the park for walks in the afternoon, and she'd be there too, walking. We talked, about everything, and after a few months, she offered to let us move in here. She said she didn't like living alone. She was so good with Sylvia. It was the perfect offer. I started looking for jobs again and ended up working at the theatre, in one job or another, until finally, I auditioned. I started trying to write. And now, I'm here. Why are you here? Don't tell me you've been in New York this entire time."

"No," he answered. "I moved around for a while. Didn't like any place very much, so I went back to Europe after a couple of years. I just got back. I've been staying with a friend; he made me go see your play."

"He has good taste," she joked. She glanced at the clock. "It's after midnight," she said, sighing. Everything seemed to hit her at once, and all she felt was exhausted.

"I'll go," he offered.

"I don't want you to," she said. "But for now, I think it would be best. Even if it were my house, I'm not sure having you appear at breakfast is the best way to introduce you to Sylvia. She knows about you but not very much. There's only so much I can explain at her age. She's never felt anything was missing; there have always been people around to love her—me and then Marie and the people at the theatre. I just—I don't want to change her life too quickly."

"I understand," he said. "It's been so long. Maybe moving a little slower will be good. I fell in love with you so fast. Now, I can woo you."

"Woo me?" She laughed. "We have a child. Isn't that a bit unnecessary?"

"No. And that doesn't mean you still love me," he pointed out.

"I do," she said sincerely. "You're still you."

She walked him to the door. "You can meet us tomorrow," she suggested. "I don't have to be at the theatre until six. I'm taking Sylvia to the park after lunch, around one. You can come, if you want to."

"Of course I'll come," he said. He cupped her cheek. "I haven't had a family in so long, Rose. I didn't think I'd ever have one again."

"Jack, I trust you. You understand what that means, don't you?"

"Completely." He kissed her. "And you can."

…

Jack was coming up the street when they came outside. Rose smiled at the sight of him. "Hello," she said when they met.

He grinned. "We meet again." Sylvia looked from him to Rose, sensing the affection between them. "Hello," he said, bending down so his face was level with hers.

"Good afternoon," she said primly, prompting a laugh from Rose. "Who are you?"

Jack held in a laugh of his own. She sounded like a tiny version of Rose. "I'm your mother's friend," he said. He held out his hand. "I'm Jack."

She shook it. "I'm Sylvia."

"That's a pretty name."

"Thank you. I have another one," she said.

"Really?"

"Sylvia Anne," she replied. "Spelled with an 'e'. But no-one calls me that."

"I'll always spell it with an 'e'," he promised. "I have another name too."

"What is it?"

"John Thomas. But no-one's ever called me that either. I hope they don't," he added confidentially.

"It doesn't sound like the way you look," she said, staring into his face.

"Well, you look just like a Sylvia Anne to me," he said.

She grinned up at Rose. "He spelled it with an 'e'," she whispered.

"We were just going for a walk in the park," Rose said. "Perhaps Jack would like to join us?"

"Do you want to?" Sylvia asked.

"I'd love to." He didn't know how to describe his feelings when she offered her hand. "Thank you," he said warmly.

Sylvia held both their hands, skipping between them, as they walked. "So, _John_ ," Rose said, grinning.

"Don't," he said. "Please, don't. If you care about me at all—"

"But it's so dignified," she teased. "You sound like the kind of man my mother would have wanted me to marry."

"Maybe that's how I should've introduced myself," he joked.

"Do you like books?" Sylvia asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah," he said.

"We have a lot," she told him. "There's a whole room for them. Mama reads to me. So does Marie. Do you know her too? They're teaching me to read."

"I could read to you," he offered.

"You could," she agreed. "Do you like plays?"

"Well—"

"My mother acts in plays. Marie takes me to see them sometimes," she chattered on. "Have you seen any?"

"I saw one last night," he answered.

"Isn't she beautiful? She doesn't listen when I tell her. She laughs and calls me a sweet child. But I'm not."

"I bet you are," he chuckled. "And you're right. She is beautiful. Next to you, I think she's the most beautiful girl in the whole world."

"Do you want to marry her?"

"Sylvia!" Rose exclaimed. "It's rude to ask such a question. You just met Jack."

"But we're friends," she protested. "Aren't we?"

Jack nodded. "That doesn't matter," Rose said. "Maybe he isn't comfortable talking about something like that."

"I'm sorry," Sylvia said. "I have so many questions. I don't know which are alright to ask."

The afternoon passed more quickly than either of them would have liked. Rose glanced at her watch and was startled to see it was already five fifteen. "We have to go," she called to the tag playing Jack and Sylvia. They hung their heads in disappointment.

"Do we really?" Jack asked, leading her over to Rose.

"I'm afraid so," she answered. "I have to be at the theatre at six, and it's after five. And it's almost time for your dinner," she added, to Sylvia.

"I'm not hungry," Sylvia protested.

"You will be soon," Rose said.

"I'll walk you," Jack said.

Smiling, Rose took Sylvia's free hand. "That would be nice," she said.

They walked as quickly as Sylvia's legs would allow. Rose frowned as they waited to cross the street. The happiness of the day was clouded by her growing anxiety about the show. Even after several years in the theatre, her stomach still tied itself up in knots before a performance. The pressure was double this time. She wasn't just the lead; she was also the writer. It was getting good review so far, and there was a stead crowd each night, but it was still only the first week. None of the major critics had seen it yet. Their opinion could make or break a show. If it was a success, the possibilities were endless. There would be more roles, better theatres. She would devote herself to writing without hesitation. She could pay back Marie. She could send Sylvia to a good school, all on her own. But if it was a failure—She tried not to think about that possibility.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked quietly.

"Just nerves," she replied. "The show."

"You'll be great," he assured her. "I'm gonna come see it again."

"Again? Why?"

"I didn't pay much attention last night. Obviously. I want to see it. I want to see what you wrote."

"I'm not sure you do," she said. She took a deep breath. "It's a good thing I won't have time for dinner. I couldn't face food right now."

"You're gonna be great," he said again, more forcefully this time.

"I'm going to be late. I should have paid more attention to the time."

"Look, why don't you let me take Syl home, and you do onto the theatre? Or I'll just watch her until you're finished later," he offered.

"No, needs to be in bed before that," Rose replied.

"Alright. When?"

"You're serious? Jack, you want to keep her?"

"Of course," he said.

"Can you handle things by yourself?" she asked apprehensively.

"I've got to learn, don't I?" he said. "I want to learn."

"Syvvy, would you like to spend a few more hours with Jack?" Rose asked. Sylvia nodded eagerly and moved closer to him. Rose hesitated. Was it too much too fast? But she did seem to adore him already. Of course, he'd spent the afternoon playing with her. It was easy to adore a new playmate. At the same time, she had to trust him with her, didn't she? If she couldn't, she might as well send him away right then. "Alright," she said. "Be sure she gets a good dinner, and she's to be home and in bed by eight thirty, no matter what she says or how much she argues. I'll call Marie from the theatre, so she doesn't worry, and so she knows to expect you later." She bent down and kissed Sylvia. "You'll be a good girl, won't you darling?"

"I promise," Sylvia said.

"Don't worry," Jack said. "We'll be fine."

She kissed him lightly. "I can't help it," she said. "It's not you. Have fun, my darlings."

…

Jack soon learned Sylvia's talkativeness surpassed what he had seen thus far. Before he could answer one question, she had another. She seemed completely at ease, as if she'd always known him. He'd been told he had a way with people, but he wanted to believe it was more than that. He wanted to believe being her father counted, even if he'd missed the first six years of her life. The more the watched her, the more he saw what Rose had meant about her always feeling loved. She had the easy confidence of a child that has never known want, either materially or of affection. She had no idea what a struggle her early life had been, and he found himself feeling grateful for that. He was grateful the money had been in Cal's coat, and for the friend who made their lives easier.

They ate in a small diner. He was surprised to see she didn't pick at her food the way he had done at her age. But she still managed to keep up the steady flow of talk. "Do you have children?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," he said.

"Do you love them?"

"I do. I really do." He was slightly surprised by how much he meant it.

"Do you have a wife?"

"Not yet," he answered. "Maybe eventually. Maybe sooner than that, I hope."

"Did you have one before?"

Jack saw the error in his previous honesty. He didn't want to lie, but he wasn't sure how to keep answering her questions without doing so. "Sort of," he said.

"Do you want to marry my mother?"

"Why would you ask that?"

She shrugged. "Lots of me want to marry her," she said. "I've heard her talking about it with Marie. Men at the theatre. A man at the library. A man at the picture show. She said it was like a plague."

"Really? And she doesn't care for any of them?"

Sylvia shook her head. "No. She likes you, though."

"You think so?"

"I could tell, even before she let me stay with you. She never leaves me with anyone but Marie, and she doesn't count. She's part of the family."

He tried to keep his tone light. "You think she'd marry me?"

"She might."

"Would you like that?"

She thought for a moment. "I guess I wouldn't mind."

…..

Jack carried Sylvia most of the way home. She lay her head on his shoulder, still chirping like a bird. He didn't mind; he liked it. The more time he spent with her, the more he saw the two of them in her. The door was unlocked, so he went in. "Hello?" he called. There was no answer. The house was dark. On the table in the hall was a note addressed to Rose. He didn't read it. He locked the door and carried Sylvia upstairs.

She yawned as he set her down. Her room was yellow and white. It was bright and airy, with a large window and feminine touches. There was a bookcase and framed paintings on the wall. He recognized them as minor artists, influenced by the Impressionists. "You don't have to have a bath, do you?" he asked. She shook her head. "Well, go brush your teeth then," he said. It only took a few tries to find her pajamas. "Do you need help?" he asked.

"No. I can do it."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and tucked her in. "Does your mother stay until you fall asleep?"

"No," she said. She yawned. "But she reads to me. Will you?"

"Sure." He picked up a book from the bedside table. "From this one?" She nodded. "Alright," he said.

When she was asleep, he crept into the hall, leaving the door cracked, and went downstairs. Not sure what else to do, he sat in the living room and used a blank sheet of note paper for a drawing, which is where he was when Marie arrived.

He went toward the door, ready to explain his presence. She let out a scream before he could speak. She grabbed an umbrella and held it over her shoulder, ready to swing it at him. "Who are you?" she demanded. Her dark eyes flashed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a friend of Rose's—"

"I've never seen you. How did you get in? She's at the theatre."

"The door was unlocked. I brought Sylvia home. She said she was going to call you, but I guess you weren't here," he explained.

She lowered the umbrella but didn't put it down. "No," she said, eying him warily. "I left a note, and I tried to reach her at the theatre. I had to go to my lawyer's office unexpectedly. My nerves were so frazzled when it was over, and I was sure she had already taken Sylvia with her, so I went ahead and had dinner." She looked at him closely. There was something familiar about his face. "You were in her dressing room last night," she said. But it was more than that. "What's your name?"

"Jack Dawson." He held out his hand.

She shook it. "Marie Harlow."

"As in—"

"Yes," she said. "What, Rose didn't tell you?"

"She said you'd inherited some money, but not that you were—"

"Rich? Obscenely well-off? It's fine. You can say it."

Jack couldn't help grinning. He could see why Rose and this woman got along so well. "No, she didn't say that," he said.

"I'm not surprised. She hates talking about money. Listen, I'm sorry for glaring at you last night, and for nearly killing you just now. You startled me. And I don't like men lurking around Rose. She has too much trouble with that."

"I understand," he said. "I'm glad she knows someone like you."

"Do you have to rush off, or do you want to wait for her? I'm sure you're a very nice young man. She left Sylvie with you, after all. I doubt she'd leave that child with her own mother, so you must be acceptable."

"So I've heard. I'm gonna go," he said. "But it was good to meet you."

"Yes, good to meet you too."

….

He only saw the last few minutes of the show. He was waiting outside Rose's dressing room with flowers. "Sylvia's home and in bed," he said. "Marie's with her. And you were wonderful." He kissed her. "These are for you, and I'm taking you to dinner."

"You'd say that no matter what." She smelled the flowers. "How lovely. Thank you. For everything."

"I haven't done anything."

"Yes, you have," she said.

 **AN: If you like this or my other stories, please review. Comments are encouraging and appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

Jack whistled as he came down for breakfast the next morning. "You're awfully chipper," Alan said, pouring a cup of coffee.

Jack sat down opposite him. The small table was heaped with food. "I feel great," he said. "I haven't felt this good in years." He grabbed a piece of toast and began spreading a thick layer of butter and jam over it. "You know, I slept all night. Didn't wake up once. Didn't dream. Just woke up this morning, no drowsiness, nothing, just read to take on the day." He ate the toast in two bites.

Alan watched him with amusement. "Do you want a plate for the eggs, or should I just pass you the platter?"

"I could probably eat the whole platter," Jack replied. "I always thought it was crazy how much food you have made for each meal, but today, I'm glad you do it." He took a handful of bacon slices and began eating them, one by one. Between bites he said, "I'm just so hungry. It's like I haven't eaten in days, and everything tastes so different. Better. Colors are brighter. When I looked outside, the world was so beautiful. The sky, the sun, that tree out back, it was amazing."

"I'm not sure what happened to bring this about," Alan said. "But you should invite me along next time."

"I'm in love." Jack shrugged. "That's all."

"The long lost girl you ran into the other night? So, that's working out? You didn't say a word yesterday. The way you rushed out, it couldn've gone either way."

"She—it was better than I could've hoped," Jack said. "It was like we hadn't been apart. Everything was the same between us."

"It's been what, six years? Nothing can be exactly the same after that,"

"It is with us. And Sylvia—"

"There's another girl?" Alan said incredulously. He raised an eyebrow. "No wonder you're so happy. I would assume one was enough, but what would I know?"

"Well, one's too much for you," Jack joked.

Alan chuckled lightly. "I suppose it is. Don't remind my brother, alright?"

"I doubt he'd speak to me," Jack replied. "Which reminds me, I'm gonna pay you back, and I'll find my own place soon."

"You know you don't have to do that. I have more than I need, and I'm happy to help. I have so few friends these days." There was a wistful note in his voice.

"Yeah, I know, but you've done a lot for me," Jack pointed out. "And you deserve something back. So, I'm gonna get a job. I have some letters from the people I worked for in Italy. I just didn't care until now." Jack's expression became serious. "Alan, have you ever thought about having a child?"

Alan laughed. "What, me have a child?"

"Yeah, have you thought about it?"

"I guess a few times, but never seriously. I don't dislike children, but I know fatherhood isn't for me. You'd have to talk to my brother, the Great Patriarch, about that. Why do you ask?"

"Sylvia's a child," Jack said slowly. "My child. With Rose. I didn't know about her until we met again the other night. She's six." He stirred his coffee. "She's smart and great and beautiful. I spent yesterday with her, and it was amazing. I felt connected to her. I saw myself in her. She has my eyes."

"Well, she is your daughter."

"I know. I can't believe it. Me, a father. Jack, the guy who can't stay still, who has no responsibilities, no roots, becoming part of a family." Jack looked into his cup. "They don't need me," he went on. "Not really. Rose's doing fine. She's got a job, and it's something she loves. She has friends and a great place to live. Now that I'm here and can help, she doesn't need me anymore."

"I'm sure she still needs you," Alan said reassuringly. "Raising a child is more than keeping it fed, and even happy people can be lonely. Trust me on that."

"I wanna marry her," Jack said.

"Then you should. Don't let go of the person you love, especially if you're getting a second chance with them."

…..

Jack walked quickly, his long legs taking large steps. Alan kept up, but he grumbled about the pace. "You know, the store stay open until five," he said. "And it's only ten now. How can you run like that after eating so much?"

"I just can," replied Jack. "And I don't want to wait anymore."

"You aren't asking her today."

"No, but I like knowing I can." Jack grinned. "I'll have it when the time comes, no matter when it is."

"Aren't you two takin your relationship slowly this time? It could be months before you ask her."

"So?" Jack said. "It could be tomorrow. I don't know what's gonna happen, and we've already lost enough time."

The rings were overwhelming. Rows and rows of gleaming diamonds, sapphires, pearls, rubies, and dozens of other gems Jack was unable to identify. Some were small; some were so large he wondered how anyone could stand wearing them. There were gold bands, silver bands, white gold plain, and bands with intricate designs on them. A sign advertised custom engraving. He liked that idea, but what would it say? 

The shop was mostly empty. A clerk stood a few feet away, ready to swoop in when necessary. "I don't know which one to pick," Jack said.

"Well, start with what you can afford," Alan suggested. "Ignore that goose egg over there."

"I wouldn't get her something like that. But I don't want it to be too small. Something in between." Jack bent down, studying a new tray of rings. "Something—" He pointed. "Like that," he cried excitedly.

"Which one?" Alan asked.

"That one."

"The pink one?" Alan said skeptically.

"Why not? It looks like her."

The clerk appeared in front of them. "May I help you gentlemen?" he asked smoothly.

"Yeah," Jack said. "I'd like to see that one."

"Very good sir."

The clerk handed Jack the ring. The band was silver. The stone was a deep pink diamond. It was large enough to be seen, but still far smaller than the once Cal had given her. Jack turned it over, watching it glitter in the light. "It's perfect," he said. "I'll take it."

"Not many people want the rose cut these days," the clerk said. "That's the only one we have."

"Rose cut?" Jack said.

"Yes, that's the cut of the diamond," explained the clerk.

Jack smiled to himself. "Yeah, it's perfect."

…

Rose leaned out the door. "Syvvy, it's time for lunch," she called. Sylvia scrambled to her feet and hurried inside. Dirt caked her knees; her shoes were scuffed, and her dress was grass stained. She carried a handful of rocks. Rose laughed. "What were you doing out there?"

"Digging for treasure." Sylvia held out the rocks. "See?"

"Yes, I see. They're very nice. Why don't you go get cleaned up?" Rose said. "Wash the treasure too, if you want to add it to the collection."

"Alright."

Rose watched as she went, humming to herself, as she rushed through the house. She hated bringing her inside. She was determined to give her everything she never had, including such mundane things as days spent playing outside and getting dirty. Rose knew she should send her to school, but she hated the idea. School had never been something she enjoyed, even though she loved learning. It was too rigid. The subjects never strayed beyond what was considered suitable for young ladies. There was always the option of sending her to one of the nearby public schools, but would Sylvia fit in there? She was so free-spirited and precocious, and her home life was nothing like the other children's. Rose couldn't bear the thought of her feeling different or strange or being teased.

For now, teaching her at home was the best option. There was nothing wrong with it. Rose knew many upper class families still educated their daughters at home, and so what if they weren't upper class?

"Isn't Marie here?" Sylvia asked.

"No, I wanted to have lunch alone," answered Rose. "We need to talk about something."

Sylvia looked up at her with blue eyes full of interest. "Is it about Jack?"

"What makes you ask that?"

Sylvia shrugged. "Just thought it might be."

"Well, actually, it is," Rose said. "Syvvy, do you like him?"

Sylvia chewed slowly. "Yes, she said. She tilted her head. "Is that all?"

"No. Would you mind spending more time with him? Alone, sometimes?"

"No. I said I like him," Sylvia answered.

"But—" Rose was at a loss for what to say. She couldn't put too much on her at once, but she needed to know where things stood. "Do you trust him?" she asked. "I mean, do you feel safe around him?"

"Shouldn't I?"

"Yes," Rose said. "You should." She smoothed Sylvia's unruly curls. "I just have to ask because we're going to be seeing him a lot now." Rose wanted to tell her he was her father, but she feared that would only confuse her. She couldn't tell the whole story yet, and without that Sylvia might not trust him to stay around.

"I thought we might," Sylvia said. "Last night he asked if he could marry you."

Rose couldn't help smiling. "Did he?"

"And I told him I wouldn't mind."

"Darling, do you understand what it means to be married?"

"Sure," Sylvia said. "It means you live together. And sometimes, you have children." Her eyes widened. "Would you have more children with him?"

"Maybe," Rose said. "Someday. I really don't know. I already have you. Wouldn't you like having more children around?"

"I don't know." Sylvia's expression was solemn. "I like him, but he's about all we need for now, isn't he?"

Rose gaze her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "That's all for now," she said. "I promise. Don't worry about anything. If I marry him, it won't be for a while. And only if you're happy with it."

….

Rose was startled by the sound of the doorbell. It was too late for the mail and too early for Marie. And she had a key. No-one from the theatre would come by unless something was wrong. _The show's closing. The reviews that matter are in, and they're awful,_ she thought. "Keep reading," she told Sylvia.

She hesitated before opening the door, wanting to delay the bad news as long as possible. Rose was more relieved than surprised to see Jack. "Hello," she said smiling.

"Hi," he said. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun. Ink stained her hands, and her dress was a plain blue, but Jack couldn't take his eyes off her. "I hope it's alright that I'm here," he added. "I wanted to see you."

"It's fine," she replied. "Syvvy and I were just studying." She stepped back. "You can come in."

She led him into a room at the back of the house. It was large; windows let in the afternoon sun. Bookshelves covered the walls. A table was piled with books, maps, papers, and pens. Sylvia sat before it, her head bent over a green book. The chairs were plush and comfortable. "You can sit down," Rose said, indicating the empty chair next to Sylvia. She took the chair across from them.

Sylvia looked up from her book. She grinned at Jack. "Hello," she said.

He returned the grin. "Hey. Whatcha reading?"

" _Anne of Green Gables_."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "That's a large book for such a small girl. You like it?"

"I've read it before," she said. "It's one of my favorites."

"Should I give it a try?"

She weighed the question carefully. "Yes," she said solemnly. "You look like you have an imagination."

"Well, thank you," he said. "That's nice to know."

Rose watched them, taking in the rapport developing between them. She could see Jack's interest in her was genuine, and she was grateful. She trusted him, but she didn't take chances where her daughter was concerned. Jack was her father, and he said he wanted to be in her life, but she couldn't entirely banish the fear that it would prove too much for him. But as she watched them share a book, her fear receded.

Imagining the three of them living together as a family was easy even though it was a dream Rose hadn't allowed herself to have before now. Thinking about him hurt too much at first, and then it had become almost a luxury, something she only occasionally indulged in. The daily task of living took up so much time and energy; she didn't want to get drawn into a dream she could never have. It was better to keep him in her heart, but firmly tucked away, like a something precious but fragile. She had thought of him the most while writing the play, but she tried not to make the character too much like him.

Jack caught her eye and smiled. "How would you some tea?" she asked.

"That's be nice," he said.

….

The afternoon wore on. Jack read with Sylvia. He helped with her geography lesson, even telling stories about his own travels. She listened, enraptured by the tales. "Can we go there?" she asked, as he finished a story about Spain.

"Sure," he replied. He looked at Rose. "If your mother'll come too."

Sylvia cast an expectant look at her. "Mama?"

"We'll see," Rose said diplomatically.

Jack leaned down and whispered to Sylvia, "I'll convince her."

"Jack, would you like to stay for dinner?" asked Rose. "I'm making it, so if you want to flee, I won't be upset."

"I'd love to stay," he said. "You sure you want me to?"

She nodded. "We'd like you to, wouldn't we Syvvy?"

"Yes," Sylvia said firmly.

Rose was almost finished preparing dinner when Marie came in. "So, we're seeing him again?" she said.

"Yes," Rose replied. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'm just surprised. I didn't think you'd ever let a man near Sylvia."

"Jack isn't just any man," Rose said.

"I can see that from your face."

Rose blushed lightly. "No, I mean, he's her father."

Marie's eyes widened in astonishment. "I thought you said he was dead?"

"I thought he was, but I was wrong," explained Rose. "He thought I was too. We found each other when he came to the show, just by accident."

"Just by accident?" Marie folded her arms across her chest. "And he wants to be in your life again? And hers? Do you believe him?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Rose asked. "I have no reason not to trust him."

"But Rose, it's been six years," Marie said. "How can you be sure he's still the man you fell in love with? I'm not trying to criticize, but I think you should be careful. He seems nice, but00"

"But he could hurt us," finished Rose. "Raise our hopes and then disappoint us. Believe me, I know. I've been thinking about that. I'm not rushing into anything. I've made that clear to him, and he agrees with me. But I have to pursue this," she went on. "For my own sake as well as Sylvia's. They deserve the chance to know each other, and if I—is it selfish to say I deserve to have him too?"

"No," Marie said. "We all deserve the chance to be happy."

…..

Jack tried not to devour his soup, but he finished the first bowl in a matter of minutes anyway. He ducked his head sheepishly as Rose offered him more. "Please," he said, holding out his bowl. They both felt the electric charge when their hands touched. Sylvia ate slowly, watching the three adults and keeping any observations to herself.

"What do you do, Jack?—May I call you Jack?" asked Marie.

"Sure, go ahead," he said. "Everyone does. I'm not really doing anything right now, but for the past couple years I've been in Europe—Italy and Spain, mostly, collecting new art for galleries. They sent me out to find new geniuses. It was probably the best job I've ever had, and the crazy thing was, it actually paid well. At least, compared to what I was used to."

"That sounds wonderful," Rose said.

"It was. You woulda loved it," he said, looking into her eyes.

"Do you think you'll ever go back?" Rose asked.

"Maybe," he answered. "I've got some people here to meet, associates of the guys I worked for in Italy. I might get to do it again, just in America this time."

"So, you would be traveling a lot?" Marie said. Her tone was light, and she sounded interested, but Jack knew she was inspecting him. He didn't mind. He wouldn't have liked her if she hadn't. At least she wasn't condescending the way Ruth had been.

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "If I wanted, I could probably stay in New York. I've been traveling for a long time, and I'm not sure it's what I want to do anymore."

Marie responded with a softening of her expression. Jack sensed her had passed a test.

….

They walked to the theatre together, hand in hand. "So that was a great dinner," Jack said.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. You turned up _after_ I learned how to cook. You're lucky," Rose replied.

Jack put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Yeah, I am," he said. "Just to have you at all."

Smiling, Rose leaned into him. "I'm sorry for the way Marie questioned you," she said. "She cares a lot about us. That's all."

"I can tell. I'm glad she does. It's good to have a friend to look out for you."

"You know, Sylvia already adores you."

There was a hopeful note in his voice. "Does she?"

"You can't see it?"

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't want to expect too much. She just met me. It's not fair to think I have a place in her life yet. Or even in yours," he added.

Rose looked up into his eyes. "But you do have a place, Jack. I love you."

"I love you too," he said. "I know we said we'd take this slow, but you need to know, I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this. I meant it when I said I wanted to be with you two."

"I believe you."

"But you have doubts."

"It's not that I don't trust you," she said. "I know what you said the other night, but this is all so sudden. And it means changing everything about the way you live. I just don't want us to get too involved and then lose you again. I know you asked Sylvia if you could marry me, but—"

"She told you?"

"She tells me everything," Rose said.

"I wanted to know how she'd feel about it," he said. "She might not like anyone with you."

"I don't think you have to worry about that/"

They stopped as they came to the theatre's back entrance. "I'm gonna ask," he said. "Eventually, when we're ready. I know I need to adjust, as much as you do, and I don't wanna put it off."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want to spend more time with you and with Sylvia. Whenever you'll let me. I'll stay with her while you work. I'll help with her lessons. Anything. And I want time for us. I'm gonna woo, you remember?" He cupped her cheek. "And I am going to see about that job tomorrow. I'll stay in New York if that's what you want."

"I'd have to think about it. My whole life is here, but maybe leaving could work out. We could start over somewhere or travel, the way we talked about. I still haven't made it to that pier," she said.

"We'll go," he promised.

"You can come by the house tomorrow," Rose said. "After breakfast, Sylvia spends a few hours outside, and then we have lunch, and after that her lessons. It's not terribly exciting, but—"

"I'd rather be there than anywhere else. Can I come after breakfast?"

"We eat around eight-thirty. You can stay as long as you like," Rose said.

"I'll be there. You think I could teach her how to draw?"

She smiled. "I think she'd like that."

Jack kissed her, quickly but deeply. "Better get inside. I'll be here to walk you home later."

"Jack, you don't have to—"

"I want to," he insisted.

…

Jack arrived promptly at nine the next morning. He carried a large sketchbook and a wooden case of art supplies under his arm. Marie answered the door. "Punctual," she said approvingly.

Jack offered her a grin. "Good morning to you too."

"They're in the library," she said. "I trust you can find it."

"Thanks. I can. And Marie?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to hurt them," he said. "You don't have to believe me yet. But I mean it. I won't."

Marie searched his face. "See that you don't," she said.


	4. Chapter 4

_Three Weeks Later_

Jack waited anxiously for her to speak. "Well?" he prompted, finally.

Rose slowly moved around the room, studying each painting. "You found all of these?" she asked, turning to him.

"Yes. I found the artists."

"Jack, these are…overwhelming," she said. "You haven't lost your gift."

"You really think so?"

She smiled. "Yes. But one of them should be yours."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not…I can't do anything like this."

"Why not? You said you were still drawing."

"I am, but they're not like this. Even when I paint, it's not like this." He gestured toward the nearest painting. "I've tried, and I can't do it," he said.

"You judge yourself too harshly, or maybe you're afraid."

"Afraid?"

"That maybe they were right; you don't really have any talent," she said. "You just compulsively draw, and like you said, none of them are worth a damn. They're pretty, but so what?" She looked him in the eye. "You shouldn't be afraid. I saw what you can do, and I doubt you've regressed since then."

"Do you want to see some of what I've done lately?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course."

Rose took his hand as they walked. It felt so natural to reach for it. It had only been a few weeks, and already she was starting to forget what life was like without him. It was a dangerous feeling, but she didn't fight it. If they had any chance of a future together, she had to trust him, and that meant trusting he would be there tomorrow. And the next day.

"Here we are," Jack said, stepping back to let her into the house. "I'm still staying with Alan," he said apologetically. "Haven't quite gotten the money together. I'm trying to save, and…" _And I'd rather wait until I can live with you_ , he added silently. She seemed to read the meaning of his silence.

His room was large. The windows were wide and let in plenty of light. He had a bed, table, and chair, but not much else. His clothes barely filled half the closet. Drawings were strewn about, on the table and the floor. She recognized his box of supplies. He had several sketchbooks, an easel, and bottles of paint. A few canvases leaned against the wall, their contents facing away from her. She picked up a drawing. It was a scene from a bar. The characters' stories seemed to be written on it. One by one, she looked at each drawing. "Why do you leave them out like this?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I was deciding what to do with them."

She picked up one of the sketchbooks. Slowly, she flipped through it. These were newer. She gasped as she saw herself, onstage. "I don't really look like that," she said.

"Yes, you do." He moved toward her. "I draw what I see, remember?"

"Did you draw me—before?" she asked.

"I tried not to," he replied. "It—it made things worse, but sometimes I did." His hand brushed hers as he reached for the book. "You should see—" His words caught in his throat. Their eyes met; the energy between them was heavy, breathtaking. He wanted to kiss her. She put her hand on his. "Jack," she whispered.

And then it was happening, all at once. Her arms were around him. He kissed her, hungrily, not stopping to breathe. They stumbled over to his bed, falling in a tangled heap. She laughed. "You don't make your bed," she murmured.

"That's what you're thinking about?" he said, with a laugh of his own.

His hands moved over her. "I—" she began. The sound of feet on the stairs broke the spell. "We can't do this," she said.

"We can't?"

"We aren't alone," she said. "And—"

"I'll make him leave. Just give me a minute," he said. He moved toward the door but didn't let go of her.

"Jack, no." She took his hands in hers. "It's too soon. I want you," she said. "But not yet. We're still finding our way back together. I don't want to ruin that. Things have been so wonderful between us." She pressed her cheek to his. "I trust you, but we didn't think about what we were doing before. We jumped. And I can't do that again."

"You're right," he said, sighing. "I'm sorry. I understand."

"Sorry? For what?" She kissed his hands. "You've never done anything I didn't want." She pulled him down next to her on the bed. He gave her a curious look. "Just hold me?" she said. She brushed a thumb across his mouth. "And kiss me?"

They forgot time. They forgot everything. Rose felt safe in his arms, and with a pang, she realized she hadn't truly felt safe when they were apart. She had felt capable but not safe. She could make her daughter feel secure, invulnerable even, but doing so for herself, alone, was considerably more difficult. "No-one has ever kissed me the way you do," she said.

"They didn't love you the way I do."

"You sound quite certain," she said.

"I am." He bent down and reclaimed her lips. "I could do this forever," he murmured.

"I can tell." Her voice grew serious. "You aren't kissing me to get to something else. You're the only man that's ever kissed me for no reason, just to be kissing me."

"I don't need another reason," he said. "It's you. I like it."

…

Rose didn't remember where she was at first. She yawned and blinked the sleep from her eyes. The blanket was tucked around her. Jack's head lay on her shoulder; they held each other. She kissed his forehead. "Jack," she said, giving him a light shake.

"Mmhmm?"

"Jack, wake up."

He rolled his face into the pillow. "Not yet," he murmured.

She shook him again. 'We have to get up. Or you have to let me up."

He groaned. "But this is so nice." He tightened his arms around her. "We've never gotten to sleep together."

"It was nice, wasn't it?" She brushed the hair away from his face. "I've never slept with anyone else. Well, not with a man."

"Really?" He lifted his head.

"Does that surprise you?"

"I don't know," he said. "A little. I don't like to think of you alone. Is that strange? I'm supposed to be jealous, right?"

"I believe so."

"But I wasn't alone," he said. "Not the whole time. There were…girls, and I—"

"You don't have to tell about it. You don't have to explain. I—I don't want to hear about them."

"I feel like I do, like I have to explain a little," he said. "You were here taking care of our daughter, and I was—not. I know we've gone over it, but—" He sighed.

"You don't have to feel guilty. You didn't leave us. It's not as though you knew what was happening. Jack, let's not talk about it anymore, alright? I'd rather talk about the future."

He nodded. "Alright. I can do that."

…..

Jack held Sylvia's hand as she walked on the edge of the low stone wall. She took small, careful steps, and as he watched her, he wondered if Rose had walked that way as a child. "My mother won't let me walk on the wall," she said.

"Well, we can keep it between us."

"She says it isn't safe. Do you think it's safe?"

"She's not wrong," he answered. "But I've got your hands, right?" She nodded. "So, you're safe. You fall, and I'll catch you. Just don't try it by yourself." When she reached the wall's end, he lifted her down. "Now what?" he asked.

"Do you have an office?"

He took her question in stride, as he did all of her questions. "Sort of. It's not very interesting though."

She looked up at him with curious eyes. "You don't ever seem to go there."

"What makes you say that?" he said.

"You never talk about it."

"I don't do most of my work there."

"What's your work?" she asked.

He grinned. "Don't you ever run out of questions?"

"How can I?" she said matter-of-factly. "There's always more I don't know."

"That's fair," he said.

In the weeks since their meeting a routine had developed. He took her in the evenings while Rose was at the theatre, and on the days he wasn't busy with work, he joined them in the afternoons or sometimes in the morning. On Rose's nights off, Marie volunteered to look after her, giving them time alone. But Rose's free nights were few, and they did their best to not waste a minute of them. But he liked spending time with Sylvia. He had always liked children, but she was exceptional. He told himself it wasn't just because she was his. And it really wasn't. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. She already had some flair for drawing, and she had an adventurous spirit. She observed the world, the way he did, but she challenged it, the way Rose did.

"Are you always going to be here?"

Her question caught him off-guard. It was the first of that sort she had asked in weeks. "Yes," he said. "If you want me to be."

"I like you," she said. "You know that."

"I thought so."

"And you want to marry my mother," she said.

"Yes. What's brought this out?"

"I've been thinking," she said, her small face serious. "If you stay, and you marry her, you'd be my father, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"I have another one, you know," she said.

"I'd heard something about that," he replied.

"He's not here. Obviously."

"I'd heard that too," he said. "Your mom said she told you about him, a little." Sylvia nodded. She looked so serious, so sad; he wanted to tell her the truth, but he knew he shouldn't. The reasons listed in his head. She was too young; it would only confuse her. Or would it? He decided to ask Rose. She'd said she didn't want her to know yet, but maybe she should know. If she found out later, she might stop trusting them. He didn't think telling her would make her trust him any less now.

"How about we talk about this a little more later?" he suggested. "We could go look at some paintings. I'll show you what I do for work."

She nodded. "Okay."

He held out his hand. "Let's go."

…..

Jack was dozing in his chair when Rose came in. She watched him for a moment, pleased by the sight of him. It felt natural, coming home and seeing him there. She didn't want him to leave, but she could very well ask him to stay, not in someone else's house. She laid a hand on his shoulders. "Jack?"

"What?" He woke with a start. He smiled. "Oh. Hey. I guess I fell asleep," he said sheepishly.

"You did indeed," she laughed. "You and Sylvia appear to have a similar bedtime." She sat down next to him. "How was she tonight?"

"Great. She's always great."

"I know," Rose said. "I'm waiting for her to become difficult," she added jokingly. "Don't all children do that eventually?"

He shrugged. "I was pretty good most of the time, and I'm sure you were."

"Don't be so sure."

"I think we'll be fine," he said. Their eyes met. "I can say that, right? It isn't presumptuous?" he added, giving her a meaningful look.

"No. That's not the word I would use," she replied.

"I remember you like that word," he teased.

"I may have used it a bit too loosely."

He reached out and took her hand. "Rose, there's some things I want to talk to you about."

"Alright."

"We haven't said it, but we both know where we're going," he said. "Or at least—"

"I know where I want us to go," she finished.

"Me too." He leaned toward her. "And I don't want to rush this, but I have to ask."

Her heart beat faster. "Now?" She watched as he reached into his pocket. "Why now?"

"I want to be able to say it." He opened the small box. Her eyes widened.

"Jack—"

"Rose, I want you to marry me," he said. "Will you?"

She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "Yes. Yes, Jack, I will." She wrapped her arms aboung him; she kissed his hair. "I've had dreams like this," she whispered.

"Was I more impressive in them?" he joked, but his eyes were serious.

"You couldn't be," she said.

He slipped the ring onto her finger. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful. I love it."

"The guy said it was a rose cut. It reminded me of you."

She kissed him. "We'll have to tell Sylvia." She laughed. "But I'm sure she'll be happy about it. She always asks when you're coming back."

"Rose, there's something else. I want to tell her," he said slowly. "I want to tell her I'm her father. She brought it up," he went on. "And I hated seeing how sad it made her. I don't want her thinking I'm not here when I am, and it doesn't seem fair to wait to tell her. I know you're afraid she won't trust us, but I think she'll trust us less if we wait. And if we have more kids—"

"More?" Rose said, raising an eyebrow.

"If you want to. I do."

"To be honest, I haven't thought very much about it," she replied. "Until you appeared, I wasn't sure I would ever get married. Sylvia scares most men away just be existing. Or they don't want a serious relationship, just an affair. Even without her, I doubt I'd want that." She paused. "But I wouldn't mind having more children. With you. I'd love it, actually."

"You would?"

She nodded. "Not right away, but yes, eventually." She went on in a more serious tone. "Jack, the thought of telling her scares me. I don't want to complicate her world any more than I have to. I'm not trying to leave you out. I'm just not in the habit of—it's always been the two of us, even with Marie there. I made all of the decisions. I have to learn how to share the responsibility."

"You do," he agreed. "And you will. I'm here. I'm in this. Whatever either of you need, I'll do."

"You're already doing more than I could have asked for." Rose let out a deep breath. "We'll tell her tomorrow. We'll tell her we're getting married, and we'll go from there."

….

Rose knocked softly on Marie's door. "Are you awake?" she said, opening it a crack.

"Yes." Marie sat in bed, a book propped on her knees. She looked up. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Roe sat down on the edge of the bed. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're all flushed. You look like you've been drinking. You look giddy."

Rose laughed. "Do I? I haven't been drinking, but I feel like I have been. You know, I've only been drunk once, and maybe not even then. I don't think it was just the beer."

"Rose, what are you talking about?" Marie said, giving her a puzzled look.

Rose held out her hand; the small diamond sparkled in the lamplight. "Isn't it lovely?"

"Yes, it is. And does it mean what a ring of this sort generally means?"

"Yes," Rose said, smiling. "He asked me tonight when I got home."

"I thought you were doing this all very slowly?"

"We are; we were," Rose answered. "I don't know anymore. My head tells me to be cautious, and my heart tells me—"

"That he's beautiful.""

"More than that," Rose said. "We've already lost so much time. It seems foolish to put things off. You never know what will happen. If I didn't have Sylvia, I probably would've already married him, or at least gone off with him."

"You don't think so clearly around him," Marie observed.

"I think more clearly around him," Rose argued. "He makes me feel safe. Do you know how long it's been since I truly felt safe? That it was alright to share everything with someone? Not just my feelings or memories, but my _life_ , the daily burdens of living. I love you, dear, but I've never wanted to ask too much of you. I haven't a right to ask anything."

"You have every right," Marie said, looking into her eyes. "I have no family, aside from the two of you."

"This doesn't mean—we'll still be family," Rose assured her. "Just differently."

"So, you're happy?"

Rose nodded, her smile widening. "Yes."

"I suppose that's enough."

…..

Sylvia watched them, trying to read their mood. Something was happening, but she didn't know what. The occasion felt rather formal, with them on one side of the table and her on the other. She wondered about the new ring on Rose's hand. Her life had been changing quickly, and she knew Jack had something to do with it. She glanced at him. He held Rose's hand. No-one else had ever done that.

"We have something very important to discuss with you," Rose said. They exchanged glances. "Jack has asked me to marry him."

"I thought he might," Sylvia said.

"And that's something you'd be happy with?" Rose asked. "If we were to live with him?"

"Where would we live?" Sylvia asked, looking at Jack.

"Well, here in the city for now," he answered. "But we could go somewhere else later on."

Her interest was piqued. "Like where?"

"Anywhere really." He shrugged. "Wherever we want."

"Sylvia, there's something else," Rose said slowly. "You remember what I told you about your father?" Sylvia nodded. "Well, I was wrong. I don't know how else to say it. I'm sorry, darling."

"What do you mean?" Sylvia asked warily. "He didn't—" 

"No. I believed he did," Rise said. "I said it was an accident, remember?"

"I remember."

"Well—you see, he actually survived, but there was so much confusion, and we lost one another," Rose explained.

"Does that mean I'll see him?" Sylvia asked solemnly.

Jack gave Rose's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes," Rose said. "Syvvy, Jack is your father."

The few seconds it took her to respond were unbearable. Rose was sure she had made a dreadful mistake. Sylvia looked at the table, going over the revelations. It didn't seem possible. She had grown very used to the idea of her father as some sort of ghostly figure, hovering about the edge of her life. But a real, live one would be better, wouldn't it? "So, it'll be the three of us now?" she said. "What about Marie?"

"We'll still see her," Rose promised "Often. She won't stop being part of our family. We're just adding someone else."

Jack felt he should speak, but he didn't know what to say. "Syl?" he said. "It won't be that different between us, and it won't happen for a little while. We're not gonna throw you into anything, alright? We just wanted you to know."

She smiled, still taking everything in. "Alright," she said.

…..

Sylvia skipped ahead of them, but they spoke in low tones anyway. "Do you think she took it well?" Rose asked.

"Yeah. She didn't seem upset. I think she knew something would happen. She might need some time to get used to everything, but I think she's alright."

"I know I shouldn't, but I can't help worrying," Rose said. "My relationship with my parents was always so awful. I don't want her to feel the way I did."

"I'm sure she won't. She doesn't." He put a comforting arm around her. "She'll adjust; we all will. And part of that means you stop worrying so much. Rose, you have got to let me worry sometimes." He kissed her hair. "You don't have to do everything alone."

…..

Rose carefully washed her face. By the end of a performance the heavy stage make-up left her feeling suffocated. Her skin began itching. She tried to hold it in, but the yawn escaped. She sat down, suddenly exhausted. But the show was a hit; they played to a full house every night. She was grateful for that. What would she be doing if it was a failure? Fatigue and all, it was nice to be building a solid reputation and have money steadily coming in. As she so often reminded herself, she never knew when she might need it.

She turned as the dressing room door opened. A dark-haired girl with an angular face stuck her head in. "Rose, have you heard?" she asked excitedly.

"Heard what?"

"About the critics who were here tonight, from the _Times_ , the _Post_ —Oh, I don't know what all, but the big papers."

"You mean we're going to be reviewed in—" Rose couldn't finish the sentence. "Are you certain?"

Terry nodded. "Yes. Come wait with us. We're all going to go done and get the morning editions."

"I can't," Rose said. "I'd like to, but I've got to get home." She slipped into her coat. "Call me tomorrow if it's good, alright?"

"Sure.

"And if it's bad, let's just not talk about it," Rose added.

As she went by, Terry added, "So, is it true? Are you really getting married?"

"Yes," Rose said with a smile. She held up her hand.

"Well, isn't that lovely," Terry said admiringly. "I guess you'll be leaving us."

"No, of course not. I've worked much too hard to give up not.

"I've heard that before," Terry said.

….

She was waiting when Jack arrived. He back was too him; he didn't recognize her at first. Her hair was shorter now, her clothes sleeker. She smiled as she turned to him. "Well, aren't you punctual," she said. "And still chasing down unsung geniuses, I see."

"Yes," he said, dumbfounded. "And you're—Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you," she said. "And I have something to show you."

"What?"

"A painter, if you're interested. I think you'll appreciate his work. In fact, I'm sure you will, even if no-one else does." She perched on the edge of his desk. "Don't look so shocked, dear. I know we left things badly, but I've forgiven you. Let's be friends."

"Grace, you can't be here," he said.

"Why not?"

"Things are different now," he said. "Whatever we have, it's over now. It's been over for a long time. You ended it, remember?"

"I was lying. I wanted it to be, but I knew it wasn't," she replied.

"No," he insisted. "It is. Really."

She smiled knowingly. "You've met someone else haven't you? Oh, don't tell me. I'm sure I already know exactly what she's like." He was stiff as she placed a kiss on his cheek. "But we can be friends, can't we?" she added. Before she could respond, she left. When the door closed behind her, he let out a heavy sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack's lips traveled down her neck. She gasped as he bit ever so gently. She felt his grin. "Like that?" he whispered, his hand moving down, lifting her skirt.

Rose nodded. "Yes. Jack—"

But the alarm was sounding, and the dream was over. She stared at the ceiling, alone in her bed. It was too big; it hadn't been before. She hugged the extra pillow, trying to will the ache away, but it wouldn't go. She knew she shouldn't; it would only make things worse, but she closed her eyes and let herself remember the way Jack's hands felt.

…..

Jack handled his desires by drawing them. It seemed like the most logical thing to do. He drew when he was bored, sad, anxious, happy—anytime, really, so why not for this? He could express the turmoil within him from a safe distance, although to most people it looked like he just observed the world around him. But no artist just observes.

His hands shook when he began, and the ache was almost unbearable, but as he worked it lessened. He sketched Rose's body from memory and wondered if she was still the same. Would she be as soft now? Would she slip through his fingers like silk and would she press her nails into his back? He shivered. No, he couldn't think about that. Not now. Not when he couldn't have her. He had to draw it.

…..

Rose tried not to let her distraction show, but it was still obvious. Sylvia saw no cause for alarm. She sensed no negativity in her mother's mood and went out to play happily. Marie, however, wasn't so sure. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," Rose answered.

"Are you sure? You don't seem like yourself."

"I'm fine, really. I'm just—" Rose searched for a tactful way to confide her feelings. She and Marie shared nearly everything, but this wasn't the sort of thing Rose felt comfortable sharing with anyone. Even the thought of telling Jack brought a light blush to her cheek, the result, she supposed, of her upbringing. Some habits, she'd found, were impossible to break entirely. "I'm having trouble sleeping," she said. "I'm having…dreams."

"Nightmares?"

"No," Rose said. She gave Marie a meaningful look.

Marie nodded slowly. "Oh. I see. And what are you going to do about it?

"I don't see that there's anything I can do," Rose replied.

"You could always—"

"You think I should?" Rose asked, slightly shocked. Marie had progressive views, many of which Rose shared, but sex outside of marriage wasn't something they had spent much time discussing, though Rose knew she didn't wholly disapprove. But still, it was surprising to hear her suggesting it. As far as she knew, Marie had no romantic interests, no potential lovers in her life. Rose wasn't even sure she wanted them.

"I think you're a grown woman, and you know what's best for yourself," Marie answered. "You're marrying him, aren't you? And you already have daughter together."

"That's true. But still…."

"It scares you?"

"Yes," Rose said. "Not Jack. I don't believe he'd ever hurt me. I really don't. But it only happened once, and we weren't thinking, not at all. If I'd let myself think I'm not sure I would have done it. But I'd never felt that way before," she went on. "I loved him. I felt so safe with him."

"Don't you feel that way now?" Marie asked gently.

"Yes. And no. I've had time to think, to overthink, and it's daunting, being that close to another person. You're so vulnerable, and not just because of what can happen," Rose replied. "What if he realized he doesn't want me after all? What if it's just the memory?"

"Do you actually believe that? You said you trusted him. Either you trust him, and you trust that he loves you, or you don't. Rose, it's that simple." Marie took a sip of her tea. "I loved someone, once, a long time ago."

"You did? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I don't know. It never seemed to matter," Marie said. "But the point is, I didn't trust them. Not enough. And I lost them. There were other reasons, but that was the main one. When it was time to act, I didn't because I was scared. I was afraid they wouldn't be there if I did. And they left. Rightfully so," she added.

"That's horrible," Rose said. "Marie, I had no idea."

"How could you? I never said anything."

"I'm sorry."

Marie waved away the apology. "Don't be. It was my own doing. But don't repeat my mistakes. I'm not telling you to do anything you don't want to, but if you're afraid of something that isn't really there, don't let that keep you from what you want."

…..

Rose opened the door before Jack could ring the bell. She smiled widely, but there was a nervousness about her. "Hello," she said, reaching for his hand.

Her smile was infectious, and his hand buzzed where it touched hers. "Hi," he said. In one quick motion, he pulled her to him. His hands pressed lightly against her waist as he kissed her. Rose wrapped her arms around him, swept away by the kiss. "I miss this," he murmured. "I miss you when I go." He kissed her again, gently this time. "Not just this," he added. "Being with you."

"I understand."

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I don't," she said.

"That was never—" he began.

"I know."

"But I do want—"

"So do I," she said.

Their eyes met, and they laughed. "We should go in for dinner," she added. "They'll be wondering where we are." But neither of them moved. "Next month," she said suddenly.

Jack guessed her meaning. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yes. I think that's long enough."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It's Sylvia I worry about," she answered. "But she's been asking."

"About me?"

"Yes, about when we'll—when you'll stay. I told her we were waiting, like we said before, but I don't think she really wants us to."

Having Sylvia want him there meant more to Jack than he had first realized. He loved her; he knew that. But he hadn't let himself think much about the likelihood of her loving him. She was always happy to see him, and despite Rose's assurances that he was adored, being accepted as her father after so many years was almost more than he hoped for. More than anything else, he had just been trying to be her friend, to be someone she trusted and could learn from. He didn't have much else to offer, as far as he saw.

"I've got some money," he said.

"We don't need money; it—"

"You need whatever I can give you," he said. "And that's more now than it was before."

"We have to go in to dinner," she said again. "We'll talk about this later."

But their talk had to wait. A frantic call came from the theatre, and Rose rushed off without even finishing her meal. Jack stayed to help clean up and watch Sylvia. "It's the night for your bath," Marie reminded her, as they cleared the table.

Sylvia groaned. "But I just had one."

"And now you'll have another," Marie said.

Frowning, Sylvia stacked the plates. "I'm not dirty."

Before Marie could respond Jack said, "She doesn't need a bath." Marie shot him a look. "She doesn't want one," he went on. "Why let her have all that fun if she doesn't want to?"

Sylvia gave him a skeptical look. "Baths aren't fun," she said.

"That's what you think," he said.

She looked at Marie, who shrugged. "He's right. We shouldn't let you."

Sylvia considered their words. Jack could tell she wanted to believe them, if only to satisfy her curiosity. "Alright," she said. "But you promise it won't be like always?"

"I promise," he said.

"And I don't have to stay in long?"

"Barely long enough to get wet," he said.

"What are you going to do?" Marie asked as Sylvia carried the dishes into the kitchen.

"I don't know," Jack said. "I'm kinda making things up as I go. How'm I doing?"

"Not too bad. Are you sure you can handle this alone?"

"I gotta learn, don't I? I mean, if I'm gonna be…" He trailed off, a little afraid to say it.

"Well, good luck," Marie said.

Jack went with the first idea that came to him. He knelt by the edge of the tub and began telling stories, carefully editing his adventures. He made them into a game, leaving out endings and asking her to guess what came next. He changed small details to make them more outlandish. Sylvia didn't protest as he helped with the washing of her hair. He wrapped a towel around her and lifted her out of the tub. "Go get dressed," he said. "Need help brushing your hair?"

"I can do it." But she reappeared a few minutes later, hairbrush in hand. "I need help," she said.

"Alright." He took her hand as they went into her room. Slowly, he untangled the knots in her curls, drying them as he went.

"Tell me more stories?" she said.

"What do you wanna hear about?"

"Did you really do all of those things?"

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't lie to you, Syl."

She turned to face him. "Promise?"

"I promise," he said. "It's okay to trust me."

She climbed onto the bed next to him. "How did you meet Mama?" she asked.

"Well," he said slowly, trying to find the right way to begin. "We were on a ship together."

"And it sank."

"Yes. Did you tell you anything else?" Sylvia shook her head. "Well," he went on. "We met one night under the stars. The first time I saw her I thought she was a princess."

Sylvia grinned. "She's pretty."

"She's very pretty. I wanted to be her friend. She made me laugh, and we danced together, and I knew I loved her."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah," he said. "And then the ship sank, and I couldn't find her again. It was—I was very sad when I couldn't find her."

"But how did she get me?"

Jack was unprepared for the question. He couldn't very well tell her the truth, but what was the acceptable thing to say to a child her age? He never had this sort of discussion with either of his parents. Everything he knew had come from other boys his age—and late, from girls. "You see," he said. "We loved each other, and sometimes when that happens, the stars give you a baby."

"Why?"

"So you can have someone else to love together," he said, hoping she accepted the explanation. She appeared to.

….

Jack was waiting when Rose left the theatre. "You didn't have to come," she said. "It's after midnight. You—"

"Didn't want you walking alone this late," he said. "It's not safe."

"I would be fine," she assured him. "I've walked home alone before, many times." She slipped her arm through his.

"I don't like to think about it," he replied. "Anything coulda happened to you or Syl. I should've been here."

"Don't start with that again. Jack, we've been over this."

"I'm know; I'm sorry. It just bothers me sometimes," he said. "We missed those years together. I never got to see Sylvia as a baby, and now she's old enough to ask me where they come from."

"Oh, she didn't," Rose gasped.

"She did, after her bath tonight."

"You gave her a bath?"

"Uh-huh."

"And she didn't fight you?" Rose asked.

"A little at first, but I told her stories and made it fun."

"What did you tell her? About babies, I mean."

"She asked how we met, and she asked how you got her, so I told her we loved each other very much, and the stars gave her to us because we did," he explained. "But I lost you, and that broke my heart."

Rose laid a hand on his chest. "Is it still broken?"

"It's getting better," he said. "Every minute with you makes it better." He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. She looked exhausted. She was doing too much, but he knew he couldn't say anything. Rose couldn't be persuaded to slow down; she would keep going just to prove she could, no matter what. Still, he wished she would let him do more for her. Helping with Sylvia relieved some of the burden, bit he knew how much she worried about money, even if she said otherwise. He wanted to make her understand that he had enough now for the three of them. He had a steady job that paid well and could take them anywhere they wanted to go. She didn't have to put so much pressure on herself. Maybe she could stop worrying so much once they were married.

"What was the crisis?" he asked.

"The theatre's being sold. We don't know what that means for us yet, though. They may let us stay. There's not much reason not to. We've got a solid show, good crowds, and good reviews. There's money to be made."

"What'll you do if they don't let you stay?"

"I don't know," Rose said slowly. "The company may break up, or we may try and find a new place. Maybe I could sell the rights to the script; it wouldn't be must, but it would help until I found something new."

"You don't hafta do that," he said.

"I'll need money to—"

"Rose, I'll take care of you," he said. "I won't let you and Sylvia be without anything. Ever again. Honey-Rose, you don't have t worry."

"I don't know how not to," she said. "It's almost like breathing. I just do it. Sometimes I wish I could stop, but what would I do then?"

Jack kissed her forehead. "Try with one thing at a time, maybe."

"I can't just let you do everything, though," she said. "You can't be the only one bringing in money."

"Why not? Isn't that what you're supposed to want?"

"Maybe. And part of me would like to just take care of Sylvia and any other babies we have," she said. "It's a demanding job on its own. But I don't want to be dependent on you for everything. My mother never had any money of her own. Everything came from her father and then my father. But when he died he left with nothing," she explained. "We were no better off than you; we just could hide it better. That's why it was so important that I marry Cal. He was going to save us. It was up to me to make sure we didn't end up destitute. If I hadn't caught his attention, I don't know what would have happened."

"Why didn't you tell me that then?" he asked.

"We never got that far, I guess. I hoped you already knew, somehow."

"I knew he had power over you, but I thought he just scared you."

"He did, but only after I met you," she said. "He controlled himself better before that. So, Jack, you see why I have to earn my own money, don't you?"

"Rose, I'd never—"

"I know. I'm not comparing you to them. But it's for my own peace of mind," she said. "And for our children. I want them to know women can take care of themselves, even if it's difficult. I don't want any daughters we have ever thinking they have to marry someone just so they'll have a home."

"They won't think that," he assured her. "But that doesn't mean you gotta worry yourself sick. If you lose the show for some reason, I'll be here, and I'll help. Even if you don't, it'll still not all be up to you. Not anymore. You gotta believe that, Petal."

"I'm trying," she said.

"Next months, huh? What made you decide that?"

"I don't know if I can keep waiting."

He thought he heard a significant lilt in her tone. "Neither can I. I've been looking at apartments," he said. "Do you want to come with me tomorrow? You and Sylvia?"

"That sounds nice."

….

Rose walked slowly, awed by the spacious rooms. Sylvia ran ahead, eager to explore. Jack watched them, waiting for approval or disapproval. "Jack, this is—" Rose began. "This is too much. We can't possibly afford this."

"Sure we can," he said.

She looked at him skeptically. He saw Sylvia's skeptical look in her face. "You can't be serious. It must be—"

"Not quite that high, and trust me, we can." He took her hands. "Do you like it?"

"Yes. It's wonderful. But—"

"You think Syl likes it?"

They glanced over to where Sylvia was skipping from room to room, her blue eyes sparkling. "I think we can assume so," Rose replied.

"Then we'll get it."

"Jack—"

"Do you want it?" he asked. "Don't think about anything else. Just tell me. Yes or no?"

"Yes, I want it," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

"Then we'll get it."

"Jack, you don't have to do this. You don't have t prove anything to us."

"I want to do this," he said. "It makes me feel good to do this for you. Like I deserve you, like I can be the husband and the father you two need."

Rose pulled him into a kiss. He put his hands on her arms and resisted the urge to pull her closer. Feeling Sylvia's eyes on them, they moved apart. Rose cleared her throat, blushing faintly. Jack grinned and put his arm around her. "Syl," he said. "Do you like it here?"

"I like the windows," she said.

"Me too," he agreed.

"And the bookshelves in the walls," she added.

"What would you say if we lived here, the three of us?" he asked.

"Can we paint the walls?"

"We can put anything you want on 'em," he answered. "You can help me."

Sylvia grinned. "Okay."

Jack pulled her into a hug with his free arm and pressed Rose closer with the other.

…..

There was a note waiting when he got to the office. He recognized the handwriting immediately. Even the envelope smelled like her gardenia perfume. He had liked the scent at first, but it had given him a headache after a while. She always smelled of it, even after a bath, and he would find himself longing for it to go away. Rose's perfume was light, and he could always smell her skin beneath it. It made him want her more than a dozen seductive fragrances ever could have. He tossed the note in the trash without opening it. He was sure he could guess its contents, and he wasn't interested. He had nothing against her, but she was part of the past. There was no room for her in his life anymore. If he ignored her messages, he reasoned, eventually she would get the point. Why wouldn't she?


	6. Chapter 6

There were only a few pieces of furniture in each room, but the apartment was beginning to look lived in, like a home. Rose insisted Jack hang some of his paintings on the walls, and he did so, though he didn't see why she wanted them up. His work was never good enough to him; it had never been, and it likely never would be. But she loved it. She didn't see the flaws he saw in them. She didn't see the places where the brush strokes were too heavy, where the colors didn't blend correctly. He knew she looked at him the same way, and at times he worried he couldn't live up to her image of him. But most of the time he didn't think about that. He just tried to make her happy.

In his spare time Jack painted the rooms. Most days he took Sylvia along to help. She liked the work and saw it as more of a game than a chore. He showed her how to clean the brushes and prime the walls, how to open the cans and stir the paint. In truth, her contributions were small, but he didn't care. It was spending those hours together that mattered. They painted her bedroom a deep teal, her favorite color. The kitchen was yellow and white, a combination chosen by Rose. Jack painted the table and chairs white with yellow flowers as a surprise. Sylvia liked the blank, color-filled walls in her room, but she was delighted when he painted the furniture with scenes she described. She was fascinated by the way he could make her words appear with just a few movements of his hand. It was the first thing he really felt like he'd given her, and he worked slowly, trying to make it perfect.

The rest of the rooms were done in rich blues and greens, soothing to the eyes but still beautiful. Jack added in little touches of his own wherever he could for Rose to find, painting doorknobs and tiny designs on the trim. Their room he filled with stars. The walls were blue and purple, and he added stars of ever kind, in different shades of white and gold. Some were shooting, others twinkled, and some were bursting into being. He covered the ceiling, though it was difficult. Rose saw the progress they made on every room except that one. Jack wouldn't let her see it until he finished. "It's a surprise," he said. And she left it at that.

When the time came to show her he was strangely nervous. What if she didn't like it? What if she just wanted something simple? She might thing it was silly to try and recreate that moment, for the idea of stars to hold so much meaning for him. Jack lingered in the doorway while Rose slowly looked around. She couldn't take it all in at first. It was like stepping out into a perfect night; the painted stars almost seemed to move, and when she touched one she nearly expected it to be hot. "Did you do all of this?" she asked, glancing back at him.

Jack nodded. "Saved it for last. What do you think?" he added hesitantly.

"I love it." Her smile was as bright as the stars. "Jack, you didn't have to do all of this, though. I wasn't expecting anything like this."

"I wanted to do it. I wanted to give you something beautiful."

"You already gave me a lovely ring," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I bought that. I'm glad I did—that I could, really, but I didn't make it, you know?" He moved toward her. "I like doing things for you," he went on. He held out his hands. "I can do a lot of things with my hands. Things I haven't even told you about, things I haven't done in years. But I can still do them."

Rose took his hands. "Like what?" she asked softly.

"I can build things," he answered. The air suddenly felt thicker; breathing took effort. Rose's cheers were lightly flushed, and he wondered if she knew. Her hands were so soft. She moved her thumb over his palm, and he felt as if she were caressing his whole body.

"What else?" she said.

"I can carve things." He watched her lips, remembering what kissing them felt like, what kissing her until they couldn't breathe felt like. Jack loved kissing, just for its own sake. He had ever since he began kissing girls. But kissing Rose was different. Better, somehow. He couldn't explain it, unless it was the difference love made.

She pressed her lips to his hands, and he shivered. "I should have known you could do things like that," she said.

"Rose." His voice was low. She looked into his eyes and smiled before placing his hands on her waist. He held her tightly, fighting the urge to touch her more. His gaze fell on her breasts, rising and falling as she breathed. He remembered the way they looked, the way they felt; they felt perfectly into his hands, his mouth. Jack held his breath, trying to overcome what he felt, but the memories and his desire were too strong. He let out a quiet groan when she kissed him.

The bed was bare, just a mattress, but they didn't notice. Or maybe they didn't care. They pulled at each other's clothes and fumbled with buttons, their hands clumsy with need. Rose looked down at him. Her hair fell around their faces like a curtain. "I love you," she whispered before kissing him. Jack wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him.

….

They lay facing each other, legs intertwined, arms thrown across each other. Their bellies touched. It had been so frenzied, despite their best efforts. Each time had gone by fast, much faster than either of them wanted. Jack knew life was a gift, but until Rose he hadn't fully understood life was time. Rushing into the next adventure was great, but appreciating the moment, pausing and fully experiencing it as it happened, that was even better. With Rose, he found himself wanting to pause over and over. He wanted to freeze time and relive their years apart, get back the moments they didn't have together. It was the same with Sylvia, only he knew he could never get back what he missed with her. It was easier to convince himself with Rose.

"So much for my resolve," Rose said.

"I'm surprised you held out this long," he joked. "I am irresistible."

"You're something," she said. "But I don't quite know what."

"Was that an insult?" he said, pretending to be hurt.

"Why would you think that?" she teased.

They fell into silence until Jack said, "Do you wish we hadn't?"

"No…Do you?"

"I'd never wish that," he replied. "But you said you wanted us to think before we did anything. We didn't really think much just now. Not the kind of thinking you were talking about."

"I thought," she said. "I thought about how much I love you and how badly I want you. And there weren't any reasons to wait. Why deny ourselves something so wonderful? I know I said I didn't want to just jump again, but we're past that point now. We have a future together."

"I want to marry you today," he said. "I don't want to wait until next week. I want to sleep with you tonight, right here." Deep down, he wanted assurance she wouldn't leave him. So much had been about convincing her he wouldn't go; she had spoken her fears, but he'd held his in, unless they were about his own potential inadequacy. But he was afraid of losing her again, not just of her leaving. He was afraid of losing Sylvia along with her. It was something he hadn't thought much about, but now that everything was coming together so perfectly, he couldn't help it. Part of him was glad they hadn't taken the time to think through what they were doing.

The full weight of their actions didn't occur to Rose until later, when she was alone in her room, trying to sleep and wishing for Jack's arms around her. It was a frightening realization, but the more she thought about it, the less it scared her. Another child wouldn't be ideal at that moment, but it wouldn't be worst thing, either. Maybe it would be a good way to start their life together; maybe it would pull them even closer.

Or maybe, and this thought she tried to ignore, it would be too much too soon. Maybe it would drive them apart.

…..

The dress lay in the box. Rose was afraid to touch it. It was more beautiful now than when she saw it in the store. When they went in she wasn't planning to buy anything, let alone such an expensive dress—and to wear once, no less—but when she saw it, she knew she had to have it. Damn the cost. Damn the extravagance. It was the dress she was meant to marry Jack in. Nothing else would do. The dress she had already chosen seemed frumpy in comparison, and she wondered why she had ever wanted it.

"What are you waiting for?" Marie asked. "Let us see you in it again." Sylvia nodded eagerly. The dress had enchanted her as well. She wanted more than anything to touch it; the fabric looked soft and slippery, the way she imagined fairy dresses would be. It was as blue as the ocean. When Rose slipped into it, it hugged every curve of her body perfectly, as if it had been made exactly for her.

Rose studied herself in the mirror. Anxiously, she smoothed the bodice. "Are you sure it isn't too much?" she asked.

"For your wedding?" Marie said. "Can a dress be too much for that?"

"I don't see why not," Rose answered. "You should have seen the dresses I was expected to pick from once. Believe me, you can overdo things." She turned to look at herself from another angle. "I can't think of another time I would wear it."

"Rose, you don't have to wear your wedding dress again," Marie said with a laugh. "Dear, that's the whole point. You're not looking for function from it. You put it away and keep it, to remember the day. Or until Sylvia gets married."

"I don't want to get married," Sylvia said, shaking her head. "Can I wear it anyway?"

"We'll discuss that when the time comes," Rose said. "I know what you're saying, Marie, but I don't like being this impractical. I could have spent that money on something more important."

"You've been practical for a long time," Marie said. "Maybe too long. When was the last time you got something for yourself? Something you didn't need? Never. Not once since I've known you. Stop worrying. Jack would agree with me. And you're only marrying him once, right?"

Rose nodded. "Right."

"So make it special."

"It will be special no matter what I wear," Rose said, smiling happily. "I'll keep it. I won't say another word."

But she worried about it. There was still no word on what the theatre's new owner planned to do, and she was grateful for her savings, which didn't include any of Cal's money. There was still some left, most of it, actually, and she kept it hidden under a loose floorboard. She swore never to use it; she just liked having it there. It was a sort of safety net. But now she had Jack for that. He assured her he could take care of them, but old habits are hard to break, and worrying was one of hers. She envied Jack. He never seemed to worry, and if he did, he dealt with it better than she did. Or at least, that's the way she saw him.

….

The apartment was done. Everything was painted and polished and arranged exactly the way they wanted it. The furniture was secondhand, but it was all good pieces. When Jack was finished with them they all looked new again. Most of their things were already there; now, it looked even more lived in than ever. As he walked through each room one more time, Jack imagined they did. He saw their life happening in each room. They were good dreams, and he felt no anxiety about the future. Everything was as it should be. It had just taken a while to get that way.

The wedding was the next morning. It wouldn't be a big affair. Even if they had known enough people to throw a lavish party, neither of them wanted that. Jack invited Alan and some of the people he worked with. None of them were close friends, aside from Alan. They had considered inviting only Alan and Marie, but once the people in Rose's troupe heard the news, keeping them away became impossible. Neither of them had family to invite, and he wondered if that bothered Rose. She never mentioned her mother, but that didn't mean she never thought about her. Jack wanted to ask, but he didn't want to upset her. He couldn't help believing Ruth wanted Rose back in her life, despite everything, and maybe Rose needed her, in some way. If he had thought about it more deeply, Jack might have realized he just missed his own parents, more so now than ever. If he had realized that he wouldn't have written to one of his contacts in Philadelphia, asking for information about Ruth.

….

"Do you think I look alright?" Rose asked nervously. She was about to touch her hair when Marie stopped her.

"Don't run your hair," she admonished. "It took me hours to get it like that. And you look perfect."

"Perfect," Sylvia echoed. Her eyes sparkled. Everything about the way was perfect to her. The beauty of it all was overwhelming. The scent of flowers was everywhere, and the whole world seemed to be made of silk and lace. Her new shoes were so shiny she could see herself in them. Her mother never intended to wear her dress again, but Sylvia wanted to hear hers every day. What was the point of packing away something so pretty? Her skirt swished when she moved and made a satisfying rustling sound. Her skirts had never been like this; they never rustled. Sylvia felt very grand and very grown-up.

"I can't remember the last time I was this nervous," Rose said. "And why? I know what I'm doing."

"Maybe it's a rule," Marie suggested. "No matter who you're marrying, you must be nervous." She handed Rose the bouquet. "It's time."

Jack was faring no better. Getting dressed had never been so difficult. His shirt wouldn't button. He couldn't tie his tie properly. His shoes pinched. He hadn't seen any reason for new shoes, but Alan insisted he get them. Getting a whole new suit and wearing it with old, scuffed shoes was out of the question. It's all anyone would notice. Jack doubted that. He was sure Rose was all anyone would notice. But she would be looking at him, even if no-one else was.

Jack's heart fluttered as the music began. As they began their procession down the aisle he was glad they hadn't eloped or gone to the courthouse and been married by a clerk. This was better. This was something to remember, and it wasn't just for him. It was also for Sylvia. She smiled as she came toward him. Her hair looked redder against her lavender dress. She looked like a doll, and he realized all over again how much he loved her and wanted to protect her. Marie came next, and then came Rose. Jack held his breath. She wasn't touchable. And yet, he knew she was, if only by him. It was as if they were still on the ship, and he was gazing up at her from his deck, so far below, unable to look away. He would have been happy just to look at her forever.

Her hand shook when he took it. He reached for the other one and placed them both between his, silently reassuring her. They looked into each other's eyes, and their nerves began to calm. Rose grinned when Jack's full name was said. "John," she mouthed.

He held in his laughter. "Don't," he mouthed back. Their "I do's" were clear and strong. The kiss was short but it left their knees weak.

….

They forgot everything else as they danced. Rose lay her head on Jack's shoulder and let him lead her. He held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. Her dress was slippery beneath his hands, and he tried not to think about taking it off her. "Happy?" he whispered.

She lifted her head. "Perfectly." With a mischievous grin she added, "John."

"Don't call me that," he said sheepishly.

"But it's your name," she teased.

"It's not. It is, but not really. No-one's ever called me that."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I dunno. I guess my folks didn't think it suited me after all," he answered.

"It doesn't," she said. "You're a Jack."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"Is that a good thing?" he said.

"There aren't very many of you, so I'd say it is," she said.

"Thank you for marrying me," he said.

"I should be thanking you."

"No," he replied. "I'm the one getting something. It might look like you need me more than I need you, but it's not like that." She knew there was more he wanted to say, but she didn't push him. She lay her head back on his shoulder and hugged him tighter.

…

"We'll have enough food for a week," Jack said, putting the last plate of leftovers in the icebox.

"Not the way you and Syvvy eat," Rose joked. "But maybe we can use that money for clothes. You both need some."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing, if you want boots with holes in them," she replied. "And threadbare pants."

"I could just wear this," he shrugged.

"You cannot," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "I can't?"

"No. We have to save it," she explained. "Along with my dress."

"You mean I never get to see you in that dress again?"

"I hadn't planned on wearing it again," she said. "One doesn't usually wear a wedding dress a second time. But it is beautiful, isn't it? It's a shame to put it away in a trunk and leave it."

"Then don't," he said, putting his hands on her waist. "Wear it whenever you feel like it." She tilted her head up to receive his kiss.

Rose wrapped her arms around him. Their foreheads pressed together, and they gazed into each other's eyes. Sylvia paused in the doorway, watching them. They seemed to be in their own world. It was a place she couldn't go, and if she had been a different sort of child that might have scared her angered her. In a sense, Jack was taking her mother away. Part of Rose's thoughts, her attention, would now be with him. There had always been one place in her life, and it had been reserved for Sylvia, but now there were two equal places, and everything had to be divided among them. She perceived all this, but nothing in her experience made her think that division would ever be less than equal. And she was gaining a father, though that wasn't something she had thought much about until he appeared.

"We have an audience," Rose said.

Jack turned and grinned at Sylvia. "Hey, Syl," he said. He held out a hand. "C'mere." His arms held them both easily.

….

"What happened next?" Sylvia asked eagerly.

"I'll tell you that part tomorrow night," Jack said. "Now, it's time to go to sleep."

"You could tell just a little more," she said plaintively. "I'm not tired. Really."

"Oh, yes, you are. It's past your bedtime, and we had an exciting day." Jack clicked off the lamp and kissed her. "I love you, Syl. Go to sleep."

He was about to close the door when she said, "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," he said. "Good-night."

Rose was starting to take down her hair when he came in. He kissed the back of her neck and helped pull the pins from her curls. He held her from behind. She leaned against him, and they watched themselves in the mirror. "We look nice together," she said.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed.

Rose turned and kissed his throat. She twisted around in his arms and began unbuttoning his shirt, moving her lips down his chest. He sighed, his hands finding the buttons on her dress. "Rose."

"Jack."

They moved slowly, learning the other's body in ways they hadn't had the time—or the control—to before. There was no need to rush now. No-one was coming after them. They weren't trying to make up for lost time. They were just in the moment, and it was perfect.


	7. Chapter 7

Rose snuggled closer to Jack. He snored lightly. She hadn't expected him to snore, but most of the time she didn't notice it. If that was the worth thing he ever did, she would gladly live with the loudest of sleeping sounds. In the month since their wedding, the three of them had adjusted well, though there had been a few mishaps. Mostly they came from simply not being accustomed to living all together. There were days when Rose found herself turning toward the house she'd shared with Marie out of habit. Gradually, they created a routine. Rose was writing again. She spent the morning with Sylvia and did her writing before she woke up, early, just after dawn. When Jack came home in the afternoons she napped. They all ate dinner together, and Jack spent the evening with Sylvia while Rose had another nap before going off to the theatre. She came in late and went straight to bed. Jack was usually awake when she arrived. He didn't like her walking home alone so late, but he couldn't meet her anymore. There was no-one to stay with Sylvia if he did. He gave her money for taxis, but she refused to accept it.

"We can use that for other things," Rose insisted. "Things we actually need."

"We need you home safe."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry, Jack," she said. "I did this for years before we were together."

"I still wish you hadn't."

"What happened to the man who said I could do anything?" she asked. 

"He's right here. You can. But I don't want anything happening to you. A woman out alone at night—" He shook his head. "I know what can happen; it does happen. I knew girls who…." He left the sentence unfinished. His blue eyes were heavy with worry.

"I'll be fine, Jack," she said, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze.

Part of him secretly wished the show would close. He knew how much it meant to her, and he was proud of her, proud of the way she shone on stage, of the art she had created, but he also wanted more time with her. It seemed like they had to snatch whatever time together they could. Between his work and hers, Sylvia, and sleep, they were seldom alone. He wanted her to himself, if only for a few hours. After six years apart, just being in the same room was a gift, and he wanted it to happen more. But how could he tell her that? He couldn't ask her to give up the show or her writing.

A partial solution came one evening as he and Sylvia took their usual walk through the neighborhood. As they walked they collected art, a game he'd invented. They chose different colors and shapes every day and looked for them. They looked for anything beautiful or unusual. She already saw the world in her own way; he wanted her to see all the different ways it could be. He wanted her to know art could be found anywhere, not just locked up in a museum, though once a week her to them.

They had just begun their game when Sylvia said, "Am I allowed to go to school?"

He hid his surprise. "Do you want to?"

"I've been thinking about it," she said seriously. "Do you think I would like it?"

"Sure, once you got used to it."

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"I didn't get to go very much," Jack answered. "Sometimes I only went for a couple months a year, but I liked it. It was nice to be with other kids, away from home, and I loved learning."

"Didn't you have brothers and sisters?"

Jack shook his head. "It was just me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just never had any. Is that why you're thinking about school, because you want to be with kids your age?" he said.

"Yes. But I don't know if they'd like me. Or maybe I wouldn't like them," she said.

"What are you talking about? Syl, they'll love you. Who wouldn't? And why wouldn't you like them back?"

"I don't know. The girls in my books don't always have friends," she said, looking at her shoes. "What if I'm like them?"

"Aww honey, you can't worry about things like that. You can't be afraid of going out in the world and living." He put a hand on her curls. She looked so much like Rose at that moment; she wore the same anxious look he remembered from those long ago days. He wanted her to never be afraid of anything. There was no reason for her to be, not as long as he was around; h would make sure of that.

"Do you think I could go?" she asked.

"If that's what you want. Is it?"

"I think. Maybe."

"Think about it a little more, Syl and tell me if you want to. You have to really want to, though. We can't put you in school just to take you back out again after a week," he warned.

"Will Mama mind?"

"I don't see why she would. Does she knew you've been thinking about this?" he asked.

"No. I haven't told her. I don't want to bother her. She's tired, more than she was before."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "How about I tell her?"

"Alright." She smiled up at him. "Thank you."

Jack pulled her into a hug. "You're welcome."

Jack realized it was a solution to his problem later when he brought it up to Rose. If Sylvia were in school, he and Rose would have the afternoon together. It was a nice thought.

"She said she wants to go?" Rose said.

"She told me she was thinking about it and she might want to."

Rose shook her head sadly. "She isn't supposed to be old enough for this. She's still a baby."

"She's six," he reminded her. "A lot of kids go when they're five, sometimes younger."

"How old were you?"

"Seven, almost eight," he replied.

"That old?" she said, surprised.

"Well, my mother taught me how to read and write at home. My father taught me some math, that's all most people really needed there, but they sent me anyway, when they could," he said.

"Did it bother your mother, not having you there?"

"I don't know," he said. "She wasn't—she wouldn'ta told me if it did, you know? She loved me; they both did. I'm sure of it. They wanted me. But they weren't—they didn't talk about things like that."

"My mother didn't either. I suppose that's why I always want to be sure Sylvia knows how much I love her," Rose said. "I wasn't always sure—I was never sure, actually, if my parents loved me. I didn't see my father very often, and you met my mother."

Jack thought of the paper in his desk at work with Ruth's address on it. There was a draft of a letter with it. "Yeah, I remember," he said. "But she loved you. She wouldn'tve pushed you toward that marriage if she didn't."

"That's an odd love. I couldn't do that to Sylvia."

"She wanted you taken care of," he said. "I can understand that. She didn't see the Cal you saw."

"Or the Jack I saw."

He grinned. "Trying to flatter me?"

"What would I get out of that?" she said flirtatiously.

He moved closer, putting a hand on her waist. "What do you want?" His lips brushed hers, and she sighed.

"Something I don't have time for," she said.

"You gotta leave already?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. "Let's talk about this more when I get home, if you're still up."

"I'll be up." He pressed her to him, kissing her so deeply her knees buckled. His hands steadied her.

"Promise you'll be up?" she said.

…..

The theatre was buzzing with activity. At first Rose didn't notice anything unusual, but then she saw the tense looks on the faces of everyone she passed. This wasn't just the usual pre-show running about. Something had happened. Rose had just reached her dressing room when Catherine burst in, followed by Sean. "Have you heard?" Catherine asked breathlessly.

"Heard what?" Rose said. "What's going on?" She thought she knew, but she refused to believe it until she heard the words spoken aloud.

"The theatre's closing," Sean said. "They just announced it. The—"

"The new owner's converting it into a picture show," Catherine interrupted, annoyed at having to share the telling with him.

"What?" Rose dropped into her chair. "When?"

"We'll be gone by the end of the month," Sean answered.

"Or sooner," Catherine said. "Some people are saying the end of the week."

Rose's mind reeled. "But—but they can't—"

"Sure they can," Catherine said. "And haven't you heard? The stage is dead. No more."

"I refuse to believe that," Rose said. "I like pictures as much as anyone, but they can't be compared to the theatre. They're completely different. Where do they expect us to go?"

"They don't care, love," Sean said. "Anywhere but here."

"What are you two going to do?" she asked.

They both shrugged. "Find another job," Sean said.

"What else is there to do?" Catherine added. Rose's dejected face prompted her to say, "But you don't have anything to worry about. Rose, you're married. You've got a husband to fall back on."

"Yes, I guess I do," Rose said distantly. It should have cheered her up, but it didn't. Was that would she would do now, fall back on Jack, like he was some kind of safety net? Rose didn't want to be just someone's wife, and if she did so, was that all she would be? Would she ever get back up again?

Those questions were still running through her mind when she went home. The light was on in their room; she had completely forgotten about asking Jack to stay up and wait for her.

He was on the bed, sketchpad against his knees. He looked up and smiled when she came in. "Hey," he said, putting his drawing aside. He moved to get up, but she motioned from him to stay there. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "The theatre is closing."

"What? When?"

"By the end of the month, possible sooner," she said. Her shoulders slumped.

"What does that mean for you?"

"I don't know. I can try to get a job somewhere else, in another show. Without money, I don't see how I can keep this one going."

"It was doing really well, wasn't it?" he said.

"Yes, but my portion of that was rather small compared to what the producers and investors received. I'm not a name. I'm not a star. I'm no-one. I just got lucky."

He cupped her cheek and turned her head so she was facing him. Looking into her eyes he said, "You are wonderful. You can do whatever you want, anything, Rose. You might only be my star now, but if you keep trying, someday you'll be a star for the whole world." As much as he didn't want to lose her to another show, as much as he wanted her with him more, he meant it. He felt guilty for ever wishing the show would close. Nothing that hurt her this much could ever make things better.

"At least I have you," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "I can always spend my days at home. Focus on writing. Have babies."

"If that's what you want," he said. He wondered if it was wrong that part of him wanted that. That wasn't all he wanted her to do, but he liked the idea.

"Would you like that?"

Jack struggled to find an answer. "I want you to be happy," he said.

"You're avoiding the question," she said calmly. "You do want that, don't you? Just tell me, Jack."

"I want more time with you." There. He'd said it. "I want us to go to bed at the same time. I want to go more places with you. I—I want _you_ ," he said, at a loss for words. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, Rose. I'll be behind whatever you choose. If you go back out there, I'll do whatever you need."

"I don't know," she said. "It feels like I'm giving up, almost."

"If you don't go back onstage?"

"Yes."

"You think you'd just be my wife," he said.

"I don't want to hurt you. Jack, I—the thought of just being anyone's wife terrifies me. What does it mean? Would I be erased? Not by you," she added, touching his face. "By everyone else. And you know I don't want to rely on you for everything. I can't."

"I don't want you to give up being who you are or doing what you love. But Rose, you don't have to put so much on yourself. I'm here. I'll help. And if something happens to me, you'll be alright. I'm gonna do whatever I can to make sure you are. I know how much you worry about money, but please, don't."

"Nothing is more terrifying than living without it," she said. "If I'd been alone it wouldn't have been. I would have made it, one way or another. And I'm stronger for having survived that time. I think." She let out a weary sigh and seemed to fold in on herself. "I want so many things, but I can't have them all, and choosing is so difficult."

"What do you want?" he asked gently.

"I wanted _you_. I got that." She kissed his hands. "I want my work. Being onstage. The writing. I love it. I think I need it. The creating, the pulling things out of myself—" She searched for the words.

"I know what you mean."

She smiled slightly. "You do, don't you? I knew you would. But I want to be here with you more, a lot more. I don't want to sleep most of the day and miss you and Sylvia. Also, I want more children. I know we've talked about it, but—"

"Now?" he said.

"If I did?"

He grinned mischievously. "We're already in bed."

"Jack, please." But she was smiling.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You know I want lotsa redhaired babies with you. And when we have them, I'll be here, helping. I won't abandon you."

"I'm not afraid of that. It's losing everything I've worked so hard for that scares me. I want everything, all the adventures we talked about _and_ the beautiful home, the children."

"We can have that," he said.

"Do you really think so?"

"Why not? We found each other, didn't we? We can make anything happen, if we try," he said.

…..

The day Sylvia went to school for the first time Rose was more nervous than she was. Sylvia was too excited to be nervous. She lay awake the previous night wondering what it would be like. Rose wondered too, but her musings were less optimistic. What is she couldn't adjust? What if she didn't make friends? But that was absurd; of course she would. As she watched her daughter disappear in the throng of children a new thought occurred to her: had her own mother ever felt this way?

Jack was still there when she got home. The breakfast dishes had been washed and put away. "You didn't have to do that," she said.

"You made breakfast," he replied with a shrug.

"Don't you have to work, though?"

"I'm probably not going to the office today," he said. "I'm supposed to be meeting artists and looking at their work. Do you want to come with me?"

"Are you serious?" It was an exciting offer, but wouldn't she be in the way? This was his job, after all.

"Of course. I want you to come," he said. "It'll be nice to have someone else's opinion."

"And that's alright?" she said. "No-one will mind?"

"Who's there to mind? I basically report to myself. I don't see the bosses very much. They're not really interested in how I find talent, just as long as I do."

"Won't the artists mind you bringing your wife?" she asked.

"Who said you were my wife? You're the actress, writer, and art critic I brought along for a second opinion," he said. "And you just so happen to be my wife. Aren't I lucky?"

"When you put it that way, yes, you are," she said. "I never realized what a catch I am. I don't remember becoming an art critic, though."

"Appreciator then," he said. "You love it; that's good enough for me. Will you come?"

….

Jack bent down to whisper in her ear. "What do you think?"

"It's overwhelming," she whispered back.

It was more than the size of the painting, though it took up the better part of a wall; it was also the emotions it contained. These dancers weren't like those she had once had. Those had been graceful, while these were—frenzied was the only word she could think of. It was as if they couldn't stop, even though they desperately wanted to. Something was pushing them onward, keeping them on their aching toes, but what? Why? Rose wished she knew. She wanted to ask, but she didn't dare.

The artist, a demure-looking woman with dark hair in thick braids pinned around her head, watched them from the back of the room, waiting for their judgment. She fiddled nervously with a pencil. She hadn't wanted to show anyone her work, not after the last time, but a friend had introduced her to Jack and assured her she could trust him. She didn't, not completely, but he seemed better than most of the others. And the face that he brought a woman along helped. _She_ might understand her work, even if he didn't.

"Yeah, it is," he said.

"I like it. It's real. The girls are beautiful, but that's not the point," Rose said quietly. "It's like they're beautiful in spite of everything they're going through."

"It makes me sad," he said. "It feels like I can touch them, but I can't. They're not really moving, either. I can't help them stop because they're frozen. They're trapped."

"Like being frozen in a pose."

"Yeah."

When they were outside again, after Jack arranged for the showing of Amy's work, overcoming her reluctance, Rose's head was still full of the paintings. All of those girls, so much like her, she realized, so much like the way she had been. The way she still was sometimes. This feeling was what art had been created for, this recognition of truth, of oneself, of another person, of beauty. It made her want to cry; her heart ached, but it was a joyful ache. She turned to Jack and was glad to see a similar look in his eyes. Of course; he understood.

As they made their way to the next destination, he asked, "You think you'd want to come with me again?"

"Do you want me to? I wouldn't be in your way?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I like having you along. When I did this in Italy I'd wish you were there, seeing the paintings with me. No-one else cares as much about this. They don't understand what it means to me the way you do."

"Aren't you worried we'll be spending too much time together?" she said jokingly. "You'll be tired of my face in a week."

"I will never get tired of any part of you." He took her hand. "And it wouldn't be every day. You're still going to write, aren't you?"

"And maybe do other things. I haven't decided yet. But I'd love to come with you again. I can't believe someone actually pays you to go around looking for art," she said.

"Neither can I. Even with the other stuff I have to do, it's still great. It's more like what I'd be doing anyway, not like a job."

"And they pay you very well, don't they?" she said. "Just to wander around and look at pretty pictures."

"They pay me _very_ well."

"That's how I feel about the theatre," she said. "Except for the part about being paid well," she added, laughing. "No matter what job I was doing it was more like fun than work."

"Maybe you'll find another one."

"I might wait before trying," she said. "I've been doing it four years." And despite her fears about being just his wife, part of her wondered what that would be like. She still thought she needed a way to get money of her own; that was just good sense. Anything could happen. But being a wife who wrote plays—brilliant plays, she hoped, someday—could work.

…..

"I just have to pick up a few papers," Jack said. "Things I need to mail. I'll only be a minute. I forgot," he added. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Jack," she said. "You don't have to rush." Rose studied the paintings in the outer office while he disappeared behind a door marked Private, where he discovered Grace waiting.


	8. Chapter 8

At first all Jack could do was stare. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Is that any way to greet and old friend?" Grace said. "I was waiting for you." She shook her head. "That's very rude."

"I mean it," he said. "Why are you here? I asked you to stay away."

"Yes, I know, but I just had to come and tell you about what I've found."

"No, you didn't," he said. "Stay away means stay away. Don't come to my office. Don't find me. I'm married. I can't have you—"

"Worried I'll tell the wife about us?" Grace said coyly. "But you told her, didn't you? It's not like you to lie."

"Of course I told her. But that doesn't mean she needs to meet you."

"Is she too delicate to handle it? Why does it matter if I meet her?" she said.

"It just does."

"I see," she said, looking into his eyes. "You think she's better than me. She can know you've had lovers, but she isn't supposed to ever see them. She's too good for that. No, your princess girl can't be in the same room with me. It's _her_ , isn't it?" she went on. "That long lost girl you couldn't stop thinking about? Princess girl," she spat.

"Don't call her that."

"Why not? It's true. That's how you always talked about her."

"Keep your voice down," he said.

"Oh, she's here, isn't she?" Grace laughed. "Of course."

"Don't—" But she swept past him and was through the door before he could stop her. Rose turned from the painting on the wall, expecting Jack Her confused look was met by a cheerful smile from Grace, who held out her hand. "I just had to meet Jack's wife," she said. "He's told me so much about you."

Rose looked from her to Jack. "Oh, well, hello," she said politely. "I'm Rose."

"Such a pretty name. It suits you."

"Thank you," Rose said. "How do you know him?"

"I'm Grace. We work together, or rather, we worked together back in Europe. I just popped into the States for a visit, and I had to see what he was up to. I came to tell him about an artist I found."

Rose took this strange woman in. She was pretty but over-powdered. She wore large rings on each hand, but the stones were genuine. Her dark hair was cut in a bob. She was stylish and bold, and Rose felt prim and old-fashioned with her long skirts and long curls. This woman clearly had no worries; nothing held her back. She grasped life with both hands. Rose couldn't help feeing jealous. She wondered if Jack saw all of that in Grace. Of course he had. Jack saw everything. She knew they had been lovers; it was obvious. But she tried not to think about it.

"But I told her we have to go," Jack said. "Leave a note about it," he said to Grace. "Don't bother with anything else."

"Of course," Grace chirped.

…

The incident passed from Rose's mind as the evening went on. She had more important things to think about. Jack worried over it that night, but after a few days with no sign of Grace, he forgot about it. Sylvia adjusted well to school, though at the end of her third week she came home with a letter for Rose.

Sylvia watched as she read it, trying to guess its contents by her mother's face. It couldn't be a bad letter; she hadn't done anything bad. But what other kind of letter could it be? Her friend Margaret had informed her only bad letters were sent home. She searched her memory for a misdeed but found none.

When she finished reading, Rose said, "Why don't you go and play before dinner?"

Sylvia was startled by this reaction. "Really?"

Rose nodded. "Yes. Go on."

Sylvia hurried to her room, not sure why she was being rewarded. When Jack came home he found Rose in the kitchen, preparing dinner. He put an arm around her from behind and kissed her cheek. "Well, hello," she said, with a smile. "And how was your day?"

"It was great. Not that exciting, but still good. How'd you like to go with me again tomorrow?" he asked.

"That sounds nice. I'd like that." She took he note from her pocket. "My day was exciting," she said, handing it to him.

"What's this?"

"Sylvia brought it home from school."

Jack read it quickly. "This says they want to put her ahead a few grades. Are they serious? Can they do that?"

"Apparently so," she said. "I couldn't believe it when I read it. They also want us to come in for a meeting, or me, rather."

"I'll go too. We should both be there."

"They don't seem to think so. I'm not sure why. I don't understand what would make them want to do this," she said. "I know she's smart, but she isn't _that_ advanced for her age. She's still just a little girl."

"Or maybe we're just not seeing it. She's ours, and we don't really have any experience with other kids," he said. "What if she is that smart? And with the way you taught her?"

"But putting her with older children? Does that really seem right to you, Jack? How will she ever make friends?"

"I don't know," he said. "But we can say not to it. Let's go to this meeting and hear what they have to say."

"I've never heard of such a thing. When I was in school the smart girls were made to keep the same pace as the rest of us."

"You mean you weren't one of the smart girls?" he said.

"Maybe I was," Rose replied. "Would that ruin things for you? My mother always said men weren't interested in marrying smart girls."

"Yeah, but I married you before I knew it," he said. "You hooked me when I thought you were beautiful and totally empty-headed."

She shook her head and laughed. "Jack."

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here."

He kissed her. "So am I."

….

Sylvia was quiet at dinner. And then again at breakfast. "What's wrong, Syl?" Jack asked.

She kept her eyes on her waffles. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing," he said. "C'mon. Tell us. We can't help if you don't."

She looked at him and then at Rose. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," Rose said. "What would make you think that?"

"The letter," she said. "They only send bad letters home."

"Oh darling, that's not true," Rose said. "Who told you that?"

"Margaret."

"Don't believe everything other kids tell you," Jack said. "They're wrong a lot, Syl."

"So, it wasn't bad?" she said.

"No," Rose assured her. "You don't have anything to worry about."

Sylvia smiled; her food had taste again. Jack put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, tell us when you're upset about something," he said. "We'll help. Don't be afraid."

Later, as they cleared away the dishes, Jack said, "Do you think she trusts me? Really trusts me?"

"What? Of course she does," Rose said. "You know that."

"I worry about it sometimes," he said. "I haven't been there long. I just showed up and demanded a place in your lives. That's a lot for a little kid to accept. It's been a lot of us to accept."

"You did not demand a place in our lives," Rose said. "You asked for one, and it was a place we wanted you to have. And Sylvia loves you. I love you. I'm forgetting what it was like to live without you. I expect you to always be there in the morning now."

"And you should," he said. "So should she."

"I'm sure she does. If it's really bothering you, talk to her. Maybe that would be good for both of you."

"Yeah. Maybe. We talk a lot, but not really about that lately."

"It's what happened at breakfast, isn't it?" she said. "Jack, you know children do things like that. I never told either of my parents when something upset me. I didn't tell anyone most of the time. I'm sure you didn't always talk to your parents either."

"I want to say I did," Jack replied. "I know you're right, but I want to remember it the way I'd like it to be, not the way it was, I guess."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"Isn't there?" he said.

Not if you don't start lying to yourself. It makes sense that you'd want to focus on the best parts of your family. I do the same thing when I think about mine."

"We should talk more about them," he said. "We should tell Sylvia about them."

"We can do that."

"Rose, if your mother wanted to see you again, would you see her?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered. "Maybe. I'd like Sylvia to meet her, at least one, but only if she's…moved on, I guess you would say. I can only imagine how she would react to the way I've been living. Why?"

"Just curious," he said. The letter was stamped and sealed, waiting to be sent. Now, it would be.

…..

There were different paintings this time. Amy was waiting for them. She smiled when she saw Rose. "I'm glad you came back," she said. When they shook hands Rose noticed her nails were bitten down. "A nervous habit," she explained, with a sheepish smile.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Rose said kindly. "If I could paint the way you do, I'd never worry about anything."

"Thank you," Amy said. "It's nice to meet someone who appreciates my work. Who understands it."

Once they were alone, Jack whispered, "She's spoken more to you in five minutes than she has to make in a month. How'd you do it?"

"I don't know. Maybe you make her uncomfortable."

"Me?" he said, surprised. "You think so?"

"It's possible. I'm sure you don't intend to, Jack. Some women aren't comfortable around men. Marie doesn't enjoy being around them, or at least, she hasn't since I've known her."

"She never seemed bothered by me."

"But I brought you into the fold," Rose pointed out. "She was skeptical about you for a while."

"Yeah, I got that. I don't blame her."

They lapsed into silence and let the paintings overtake them. These were mermaids, done in bright, jewel-like colors. Their hair looked touchable. Unlike the dancers they weren't painted alone. They swam together happily; there was affection between them.

"What do you think?" Jack asked.

"I like them. They aren't as sad as the dancers, but there's still something there," Rose said. "They're still not quite free."

"No," he agreed. "And the colors, they're so vivid, like everything in that world is brighter, magnified."

"It's like being in love."

"What?"

Rose turned to him. "When you love someone everything about them is brighter. Their eyes aren't blue; they're bluer than robin's eggs or as blue as a field of corn flowers."

"That's how you see my eyes, huh?" he said softly.

She half-smiled. "Who said I was talking about you?" But they both knew she was.

…

As they were preparing to leave, Rose said, "Why don't we invite her to dinner?"

"Really? You want to?"

"Why not?" she said. "I'll invite Marie as well. I think they'll get along. She reminds me of her."

"Alright," he said.

So it was settled. Rose felt a sense of accomplishment as they went to lunch. This girl could be a friend, and that was something she didn't have many of. Now that the theatre was closed, most of the people she knew had drifted away. It was the nature of things; it wasn't anyone's fault. But she wanted more people to talk to. Jack was wonderful; he was probably her best friend. But they couldn't spend every moment together, and she suspected it wouldn't be good for them to try. "Why not invite Alan?" she suggested. "We've been so caught in each other lately we haven't given a thought to anyone else."

"I've enjoyed that," Jack said.

"So have I, but won't we enjoy it more if we take an evening off?"

"You've got a point," he said. "I'll ask him. But we're not trying to match up couples, right? We're married and happy, but we're leaving everyone else alone."

"Of course we're not matchmaking," she said. "I'd never try that. I know what it's like to be pushed toward someone who's completely wrong for you. If anyone we introduce likes anyone else, that's their affair. It's purely a coincidence."

"What if someone had tried to match you up with me?" he asked.

"Jack, what are you talking about?"

"What if I'd had money, and your mother pushed you toward me," he said. "Would you've liked me anyway?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what you would have been like. I can't imagine you as a wealthy man, not and still the man I fell in love with. Not many millionaires sell portraits of strangers on piers for ten cents each."

"That might be their problem," he said. "They've got all that money, but they never really live."

Rose laughed. "You're right, though I suppose you think you'd have been different."

"Sure. We'd both be different." Secretly, Jack wished he had been rich when he first met her. He could have given Rose whatever she needed. Leaving Cal would never have been a problem. He wouldn't have dared to try and get rid of him. They both could have gotten places in a boat. She never would have had to spend those years alone. Or if they had been separated, he could easily have found her again. It made no difference, but it was still something he thought about.

…

The meeting was during the afternoon. The children were at recess, outside. Sylvia's teacher, a young woman named Miss Benson, the principal, a middle-aged Mr. Harris, Jack, and Rose gathered in the principal's office. Rose sat straight in her chair, every inch a lady in their eyes. Jack was more relaxed, and both Miss Benson and Mr. Harris wondered at the pairing.

"I'm sorry to be taking time out of your day," Miss Benson said. "But we felt it was important to speak with you in person."

"It's not a problem," Jack said. "What's going on, exactly?"

"You read my letter, I trust?" Miss Benson said.

"Yes," Rose said. "But we weren't sure what caused it. You said you thought Sylvia should be placed in a higher grade."

"Yes," Miss Benson replied. "I think so, and so does Mr. Harris."

"But she's only five," Rose said. "I know she's an intelligent child, precocious even, but—"

"Mrs. Dawson, you're aware she can read and right, I'm sure," Mr. Harris said.

"Of course," Rose said. "I taught her how."

"Then you're also aware she can read on a level much higher than that of her classmates," he went on. "And she understands much of what she reads. Nearly all of it, in fact."

"That's not enough to put her with older kids, is it?" Jack asked. "I was ahead of the kids my age too. My mother taught me at home the way Rose's taught our daughter."

"That's interesting," Mr. Harris said. "Mrs. Dawson, were you also advanced in school?"

"I'm not sure," Rose said. "I attended a boarding school that didn't emphasize academics. They were trying to make us ladies, not intellectuals. My parents chose it for that reason."

"Despite what some have advocated in the past, we care deeply about the education of girls," Miss Benson said. "We want to provide as thorough an education as possible for your daughter, and to be completely honest, her mind has surpassed the first grade. She does everything I assign her with ease. It seems to bore her."

"But she's too young to make friends with older children," Rose said. "Won't that affect her development somehow?"

"Form what she's told me, I gather she doesn't spend much time around children, or she didn't until she came to school," Miss Benson said. "She has no siblings."

"No, she doesn't," Jack said. "But that's why she wanted to come to school. She wanted to be around kids her own age. We can't take that away from her."

"What if there was a solution that worked for everyone?" Mr. Harris asked.

"Like what?" Rose said.

"What if she stayed with her class but did more advanced work?" he suggested.

Jack and Rose exchanged glances. "That could work," Jack said. "But we'd have to discuss it with her first."

"Children don't know what's best for them," Miss Benson said. "Don't let her make a decision like this. It will affect the rest of her life."

"But that's why what she thinks matters," Rose said.

…..

After dinner Sylvia went off to play. As they cleaned up the kitchen, Rose said, "What do you think, Jack?"

"If she's bored in school she should be given something more challenging to do," he said. "Something that interest her. If she never learns how to challenge herself, how'll she make it later? She's smart now, but if she realizes she never has to try, what then?"

"I was thinking something similar. But we can't push her too far too fast. I don't want her losing the time she has as a child," she said. "I've done everything I could to make sure she didn't."

"We won't let that happen. She'll still do everything else the way she always has. If we don't treat her like an adult, she'll stay a kid."

"But what happens when she finishes school early?" Rose asked. "What will she do for those few years?"

Jack shrugged. "Whatever she wants. Wouldn't you've liked a chance like that?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I would have done anything for a chance like that. But there's something else."

"What?"

"Will she seem different to our other children, when we have them?"

"I think she'll always seem different to them," he said. "She'll be older. She'll have lived with just you. We can't change that."

"Then we should talk to her."

"Yeah," he said.

….

Once everything was explained, Sylvia readily agreed to the plan. She admitted being bored by her schoolwork, and the promise of something challenging appealed to her, as long as she didn't have to leave her friends.

Sitting with Jack while he drew in the evenings had become a habit. Sylvia curled onto his lap, on his left side, and watched the picture take shape. She found the process fascinating. A few movements of his hand, and something was there. A few more, and it was clearer. Sometimes she described things for him to draw. Those he gave to her. She kept them safe, half-believing they were magic.

At times like this, Jack had no misgivings about himself as a father or husband. He could even imagine he had always been there, and this ritual had always gone on. Like Rose, he was forgetting how it felt to live alone. Rose was more essential to him now than ever, and Sylvia felt like a part of him. He never expected to love anyone the way he loved them. He never expected to see his eyes in another face and to feel such a need to protect that person. How, he wondered, had Rose been able to stand those feelings by herself? It was overwhelming.

Sylvia yawned, and her head began falling. "Time for bed," Jack said, putting his sketch aside.

"A few more minutes," she protested through another yawn.

"No," he said. "You're too little to stay up any later."

"I can put her to bed," Rose offered.

"I got it," he said.

Rose watched them go, and for one moment everything was right. Those moments came more and more often now. Someday, she hoped, they wouldn't end.

 **AN: Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you're still enjoying. I'm updating the other stories as well, soon.**


	9. Chapter 9

Rose snuggled closer to Jack, burying her face in his neck. He smelled different when he slept, stronger somehow. He hugged her tighter, and she felt herself drifting off again, until the shrill cry of the alarm ended it. Groaning, Jack reached over and turned it off. "It can't be seven already," he said. "We just went to bed."

"I think you mean we just went to sleep," Rose said, rubbing her eyes.

He chuckled. "Maybe I do." He reached for her as she got up. "Hey, let's not do anything today," he said.

"What?"

"Let's take the day off. We'll get Sylvia to school and spend the rest of the day together."

"Jack, we can't do that."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well, because—you can't just _not_ go to work."

"Sure I can," he said. "I don't have any meetings today. We're just planning for those shows I was telling you about. I'm not part of anything that's going on right now, though."

"But don't you think it would be a little unfair, sending Sylvia to school while we go and have fun?" she said.

"We'll take her with us then."

"But Jack, we—it's irresponsible. We shouldn't." Despite her protests, Rose liked the idea.

"You and her are two of the most serious people I've ever met," he said. "But you don't hafta be. Nothing bad'll happen if we take the day off."

"I haven't been this relaxed in—well, ever," she said. "I don't worry the way I used to."

"That's good."

"You don't think Sylvia's too serious, do you? You don't think I've kept her from being a child too much?"

"No, I think she's fine," he said. "Rose, you've done a great job with her."

"I hope so," she said. "Alright, let's do it."

….

Sylvia didn't need convincing. She was always ready to do whatever Jack suggested; his ideas hadn't turned out badly so far. She wasn't sure they could. And she was eager to spend time with him. Before she would imagine what her father might be like, how he would look, how he would talk, but Jack was better than any of her imaginings. It didn't occur to her he might just be best because he was real.

She walked between them, holding both their hands. She smiled at everyone they passed, sure they were admiring her family. She had always thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, but now she was lovelier than ever. And her father looked like the hero from a story. Sylvia liked to pretend he was. Rose was really a princess, and they had been separated by a curse, or maybe by an evil queen. But he found them again, and everything was going back to the way it was supposed to be. She never suspected how close to the truth she was.

…

The theater was empty, so there was no-one to object if they talked. Sylvia had trouble staying quiet during pictures. She laughed too loudly, gasped, and even cried sometimes, if the story was particularly sad. As the lights dimmed she felt the familiar anticipation and held her breath until the credits rolled. When the picture began she was lost in its make believe world. She never noticed Jack glancing at her occasionally, or the looks he gave Rose over her head.

They stayed for two features, something she'd never done. By the time it was over, Sylvia had decided her mother could replace Mary Pickford; she had more curls, after all. They could move to Hollywood and star in pictures. Jack was as handsome as Douglas Fairbanks, but he reminded her more of Chaplin. They both looked so kind. Father, her friends had told her, weren't such good things to have. They were stern; they doled out punishments. That was their job. And according to her best friend, Margaret, they stole your mother if they appeared out of nowhere. She would love him more than you. But Sylvia didn't believe that. Jack didn't do any of those things. He wouldn't.

Sylvia had a deeply trusting nature, but she knew a threat when she saw one. She had Jack's survival instincts, and it was obvious he wasn't a threat. But the woman they ran into outside the theater was a different story.

…..

Rose tried not to let the encounter with Grace bother her. She tried to put it out of her mind, but it kept coming back. Grace's insincere politeness. The way she tried to show off her date, a man Ruth would have instantly dismissed as New Money. Her glances at Jack, and the way she seemed to want Rose to see them. "Jack, you never mentioned a daughter," Grace had said. "What a thing to leave out." She looked directly into Rose's eyes and added, "She looks just like you."

"Thank you," Rose replied coolly.

Until then, she hadn't cared if Grace and Jack were once lovers. It was in the past; what did it matter now? They couldn't hold the things they'd done against each other. Although, now that she thought about it, she hadn't done very much. She hadn't done _anything_. There hadn't been time, between Sylvia and work. She never had the energy.

But those were excuses, and she knew it. The truth was she hadn't wanted to do anything. Rose turned down any men who asked for dates or who showed an interest in her. It was partially for Sylva; she couldn't bring just anyone into her life. And Rose didn't want a casual lover. She wanted someone she could love; she wanted a commitment. Men were different, she told herself. They didn't need to love a woman to be with her. Hadn't she seen that firsthand? Hadn't Cal taught her that? But still, it bothered her.

Rose didn't hear Jack come in. She didn't realize he was there until he kissed her cheek. "Sylvia's in bed," he said.

"Oh, good," she said distantly.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "You just seem, I dunno, distracted, like you've got something on your mind."

Rose smiled cheerfully. "No," she said. "I'm fine."

He smiled back. "Good." He put his arms around her. "Did you enjoy today?"

"I did. And I know Sylvia did."

"She was still talking about it," he said. "It got me thinking, in a few months, we should go on a trip, the three of us. We said we'd travel, and she's never been out of New York."

"That sounds nice," she said, forgetting Grace for the moment. "Yes, let's do it."

"Really?"

"Just no boats."

Jack laughed. "No boats," he agreed. "No water of any kind."

"Well, maybe some water would be alright, but we won't go near the ocean."

"No."

His hand was in her hair; his thumb caressed her cheek. He was kissing her. Rose sank against him. She couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. His hands were undoing her dress, and his lips moved down her neck.

"Jack," she sighed. She couldn't think. Hadn't there been something she wanted to discuss? But they were on the bed now, and clothes were being tossed aside. His hand moved up her thigh. "Jack."

"Rose."

….

He still trembled. Rose almost expected him not to anymore, now that he was older. She held him tightly, her lips on his hair. This was what she liked best. She closed her eyes. He said something, but it was lost in sleep.

Rose opened her eyes. It felt like no time had passed, but the sun shone brightly. She didn't know where she was, though. There were drawings spread across a table, all of the same woman. Grace. Rose sucked in her breath. "Jack did these," she whispered. She turned as the door opened. They came in together. He spun her, and they danced across the room. Rose couldn't move. It didn't matter; they couldn't see her. She watched, horrified, as he took Grace in his arms and kissed her. "No!" she cried. "No, Jack, you can't!" But, of course, they didn't hear. "No! No!" Rose shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. "Jack!"

"Rose!" He shook her. "Rose, wake up."

"Jack, no." She struggled against him.

"Rose, it's a dream," he said. She stared up at him. "You're alright. It's not real."

"Jack."

"I'm here," he said reassuringly. He held her against him. "You're safe."

Rose touched his face. "It was so real. You were…"

"I was what?"

"You were with her. Grace."

"What?" he said. "You mean, like, with her?"

"Yes," she said. "You couldn't see me."

"Why would you dream that?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I guess it came from seeing her again. I thought I didn't care, but I do now."

"You know, then," Jack said. "About me and her."

"I know. I knew when I met her," she said. "I ignored it then. It didn't matter."

"Rose, I wouldn't leave you. I don't want her," he said. "You know that. What happened between us, it was nothing. I didn't love her."

"But that's what bothers me, Jack. How could you be so close to someone and not love them?" she asked.

"I don't know. I liked her. She was pretty and fun to be with, easy to be with, really," he said. "I didn't want to love anyone then. She didn't ask me to."

"But you went to be with her. You lived with her," she said plainly.

"Yes."

"I don't understand how. I couldn't do that," Rose said, shaking her head.

"I needed someone. I thought she'd help me get over losing you, but she didn't. I thought about you all the time anyway. She hated me by the end."

"She doesn't seem to hate you anymore."

"Believe me, she's angry. Maybe she should be. I wasn't very fair to her," he said. "I was with her, but I wanted you." He paused. "You really weren't ever with anyone else?"

"No. You're the only one."

"I kinda hoped that wasn't true," he said. "I want to think you were happy without me, you weren't alone. You weren't just taking care of everything while I did nothing."

"You know it wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" he said.

"I was part of it too. I don't want to talk about it again. We settled it."

"But I had the experience. I knew—"

"I knew everything that could happen," Rose said. "Jack, I'm not a doll. I did know a few things, even then."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be harsh," she said. "I'm just upset. It's stupid. I keep thinking you had the chance to be with other people, to go and do whatever you wanted, and you took it. I can't be angry with you for that. I had chances. I turned them down."

"You had a baby to think about."

"She was only part of it. I could have tried to find a man, a husband," she said. "Most of the girls I knew said I should. It would be better to get married while she was young and wouldn't know the difference, but I couldn't do it."

"I'm glad you didn't," Jack said. "I don't know what I woulda done if you'd been married when I found you."

"Gotten me out of another relationship?" she said, smiling wryly. "Now I wonder if I didn't know you'd be back, or maybe I just hoped you would be. Part of me wonders if I didn't miss something though."

Jack felt a chill. "By staying alone?"

"We're still the same," Rose said. "You have those girls in the past, and I have you."

"Are you saying you want—" He couldn't get the words out. The thought of her with anyone else was too much to handle. No-one would love her the way he did; no-one would touch her the way he did. They wouldn't care how she felt. He told himself that, but he knew it wasn't true. Somewhere there was a man, perhaps more than one, who would love her just as much as he did.

"I don't want another man," she said. "I couldn't be with someone I don't love, and how can I love someone else with you here? It's more than that. I wish we were even. I wish there wasn't always the possibility of a girl from your past appearing. I wish I could have been more like you and enjoyed life more."

They were silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "I called her Rose."

"What?"

"I called her Rose, in bed. More than once," he said.

"You didn't. Jack, you wouldn't."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he said. "I guess, I—I kinda used her, in a way. It was wrong. I told her about you, a little, at the end, trying to explain why…D'you hate me now too?"

"I couldn't ever hate you, Jack."

…..

Jack was surprised when she kissed him the next morning. "Are we alright?" he asked.

"We're fine," Rose said. "Talking about it helped."

"Rose, if you wanted—if you—"

She out a finger to his mouth. "I don't want that. The only thing I really want now is not to compare myself to anyone else. I can't imagine how she must have felt, knowing you weren't really with her."

"I've never compared you to anyone else. Rose, when we're together, it's me and you," he said.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry for acting so crazy last night."

"You weren't crazy."

"I was a little. Maybe I'm pregnant," she joked. "I felt some bizarre things with Sylvia. I thought it was all the changes, grief. Maybe it wasn't."

"You really think you are?" There was hope in his voice.

"I didn't think so," she replied. "But it's possible."

"Can I say I hope you are?"

Rose nodded. "You can say that. I hope I am too."

"You mean it? You'll really have another one with me?"

"What have we been doing if not trying for that?" she said. "We talked about this."

"I know. It's just too good to be true," he said. "Everything's finally come together. I'm waiting for something bad to happen."

"It won't," she said confidently.

….

The mail had already been delivered when Jack arrived at work. The letter from Ruth was at the top of the stack. He ignored the rest. He read the front of the envelope over and over before finally opening it. Her handwriting was precise; it was curly and full of loops. The paper was good quality.

 _Mr. Dawson,_ it began. He wasn't surprised by the formality of the greeting or its curt tone. _I was shocked to receive your letter last week. It was more than shocked, actually. Words cannot describe what I felt. At first, I found your forwardness distasteful. After all these years, to contact me without warning is rather offensive. I've assumed both you and Rose were dead all this time. I've never heard from her, not once, not a single message to let me know she's still alive. Do you have any idea how that feels, Mr. Dawson? Do you understand how a mother feels when she believes her child lost forever? Surely you must have some idea of the grief. Even you can understand loss._

There was something reassuring about how little she had changed. She sounded exactly like the woman he'd met. Jack laughed, feeling her frown as he did so.

 _You say the two of you are married. I hope you don't expect congratulations or some kind of blessing. This relationship does not have my approval. It never has. As far as I'm concerned, Rose is too good for you._

Well, at least they agreed there.

 _You should never have come near her, and every day I wish you hadn't. But you say she's safe and happy, and for that, I'm glad. I don't wish misfortune on her. I don't want her harmed. She's still my daughter. I love her. I miss her. Her choices are baffling, to say the least. I don't understand her at all. I don't know what made you write to me. Guilt, perhaps? You say she's happy, but meeting you was the worst thing that ever happened to her. Even if she were to tell me otherwise herself, I still wouldn't believe it._

 _Ruth Dewitt-Bukator._

Jack didn't know what to think at first. It was a harsh, unforgiving letter. But there was hope. He wrote back, finishing the letter quickly. He enclosed a photo of Rose and Sylvia, taken at the wedding. Maybe that would change the way she felt.

…..

Sylvia knew better than to talk too much about her life with the other children. They wouldn't understand. None of them had parents who were presumed dead only to appear again, miraculously. None of them had mothers who wrote or appeared onstage. None of their parents seemed as young as hers. It wasn't just the way they looked. Jack and Rose had youthful spirits, despite all they had gone through.

"Where were you yesterday?" Margaret asked.

Sylvia had a note from Rose that said she missed school because she hadn't felt well. The teacher accepted it without argument. Who would ever suspect the truth? "I went out for the day with my parents," Sylvia said. "We went to lunch and saw two pictures."

"No, you didn't."

"I did," Sylvia insisted.

"Really?" Margaret looked impressed. "Why?"

"No reason, I guess. They just wanted to."

"And they took you along?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Sylvia asked. They had wandered out of the recess area and were now on the street. Margaret was about to answer when Sylvia saw Grace. She was standing with a well-dressed, dark haired man. Sylvia tried to avoid being seen, but it was too late.

"Shouldn't you children be inside?" Grace said, giving Sylvia a look of recognition. The man didn't speak. He looked at her closely, as if he too recognized her, but Sylvia didn't know how he could.

"Yes," Margaret said, taking Sylvia's hand. As they walked away, she heard Grace say, "Such lovely hair."

"Do you think so?" the man replied. "I don't like red hair. Or curls."

…..

It was too soon. There was nothing the doctor could tell her. Rose was frustrated by the lack of results, but mostly she was frustrated with herself for getting so worked up. She knew better.

She sighed as she let herself into the apartment. Jack was walking Sylvia home from school, but they weren't due back for another few hours. Normally she liked the quiet time alone. Today, however, she wished for noise, for distraction. She wanted to be pregnant more than she'd realized, and now she was starting to fear it might not happen. What if something had gone wrong in her body, and she couldn't have children anymore?

But there was no reason to think that way. Just because she was with Jack once and had Sylvia didn't mean she should panic if nothing happened after a few months. "Stop," she told herself.

She sat down at her desk and cleared her head for writing, never suspecting what she wanted was already in motion.


	10. Chapter 10

"Here's both my girls," Jack said cheerfully. He kissed the top of Sylvia's head and hugged Rose with one arm. "Whatcha doing?"

"We're making pies," Sylvia announced.

"Really? I didn't know you baked," he said, turning to Rose.

"I do many things," Rose said mysteriously.

"I can see that," he replied. "They look good. What's the occasion?"

"The dinner," Rose said. "Remember?"

"That's tonight?"

"It's tomorrow," Rose said. "But I wanted to get things started tonight in case something goes wrong."

"It won't," Jack said.

"Your confidence has been noted," Rose replied. "And I hope you're right."

"Syl, tell your mother I'm right," he said. Sylvia just shook he head. He ruffled her curls. "Fine. Can I help?"

"We don't really need help," Rose said. "But you can make your own pie, if you want to."

"Do it," Sylvia urged. "It's fun."

"I've never baked anything," Jack said. "Show me what to do, Syl."

The materials looked too big in her small hands, but she handled them deftly. Jack was impressed. Sylvia needed little prompting from Rose, who finished her own pies easily. Of course Rose knew how to bake. Why had he been surprised by that? It was such a change, he supposed, from the girl who talked about the things she could do, if given the chance. This woman went out and did them. He'd known she would. Jack glanced at her. She caught his eye. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, smiling slightly.

The pies turned out well. The smell filled the apartment, making their stomachs growl, but Rose wouldn't let them eat any until after dinner. Sylvia looked at Jack, hoping he would change her mind, but he shrugged. "You heard her," he said.

…..

Rose flipped through her clothes. The hangers made a loud _thwick_ sound as she moved impatiently through the closet. She pulled out a green dress and held it up to herself in front of the mirror.

"That's pretty," Jack said from behind her. "I haven't seen you in that."

"I haven't worn it in a while," she said. "I didn't realize I had so many clothes. I guess I should get rid of some."

"No reason why you should."

Rose frowned at her reflection. "I think I'll go with the lavender dress instead."

"Is this for tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes." She pulled out another dress. "Do you think it's a good choice?"

"I think it's great," Jack answered. "You'll look beautiful in it. You look beautiful in everything, Rose."

"You're sweet, Jack."

"It's true," he said. "Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

"To placate me?" she said.

"Why're you so worried about this dinner? It's just a few people, our friends," he said. "They're not gonna be judging your clothes."

"Of course they will be. They won't say anything. They'll be polite about it, but they'll be looking at everything. This is the first time we've invited anyone here, and it's the first time since I…."

"Since you what?" he said.

"Since I stopped working," Rose said. "I don't want them thinking I—that I've let myself go or…"

"What are you talking about?" Jack said. "Rose, why would anyone think that? And you work. You write. You keep the place together. You cook. That pie you made was incredible," he went on. "I'dve married you for that if I'd known about it."

"Did you really like it?" she asked, with a smile.

"I ate two pieces, didn't I?" He took her hands. "You've got nothing to worry about. No-one is judging you. No-one is thinking any less of you. If this is gonna upset you, we won't do it."

"No, I want to," Rose said. "We already have the dessert, after all. I'm just overthinking it. Looking for something to worry about. Old habits die hard and all that."

Jack kissed her forehead. "It'll be great," he said. "You'll see."

….

The actual dinner came together perfectly. Rose was afraid she started cooking too early, but it was at a good middle point when Jack and Sylvia came home.

"Is this all for us?" Jack asked.

"It's all for us," she answered.

"Are we having a party?" Sylvia asked.

"Not quite," Rose said. "We're just having some people over for dinner. Your Aunt Marie and your father's friend Alan and a new friend, Amy. She paints."

"Will she bring her paintings with her?" Sylvia asked, intrigued by the idea of a lady painter.

"Probably not," Jack said. "But maybe I could take you to see them sometime."

"Could you really?" Sylvia said eagerly.

"I'll find out," he promised.

"Why don't you go change out of your school clothes," Rose suggested.

"Can I dress up for dinner?" Sylvia asked.

"Yes," Rose answered. "But you can't stay up late."

When she was gone Jack said, "She's excited about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, she loves any excuse to put on a fancy dress, you know that," Rose said. "She'd wear one every day if we let her."

"Were you like that?"

"Not really," she said, shaking her head. "I wanted to be outside. I wanted clothes that didn't have to be protected." Jack brushed his fingertips across her cheek. He gazed at her intently. "What is it?" she said, smiling self-consciously.

"Nothing," he said. "It's just you."

"What about me?"

"I love you," Rose."

"I love you too, Jack," she said. "But you keep looking at me as if I'm going to disappear."

"I don't mean to," he said. He pulled her closer and kissed her. She sank against him. "I'm just happy," he whispered. "It's been so long since I was really happy, Rose."

She brushed the hair away from his eyes. "Get used to it," she said.

…

Marie arrived first, followed by Alan, and then Amy. "Would you all like a tour?" Rose asked. Her mother's voice sounded in her head; she found herself remembering the things she did during parties. Polite. Gracious. But this wasn't different from the times she and Marie incited friend to the house, was it? Rose tried to tell herself it was the same, but she didn't quite believe it. Those had been impromptu gatherings. They were frequent and usually consisted of Rose's friends from the theater or people Marie knew. There weren't expectations for those parties. Rose caught Marie's eyes and was rewarded with a smile. It mattered that she approve of this new life. She was the only family Rose had, aside from Jack and Sylvia, and her good opinion was important. She was like the older sister Rose never had.

"Who did the painting?" Amy asked. She cast an impressed eye over the mural in Sylvia's room.

"I did," Jack said.

"Really?" Amy said. "I didn't know you painted. Another reason to trust you."

"Amy is letting Jack handle her work," Rose explained. "It wasn't easy to convince her."

"You helped, Rose," Amy said.

Rose shook her head. "I just came along."

"Is she always like this?" Amy asked, not unkindly.

"Yes," Jack and Marie said in unison. They laughed awkwardly, each trying to claim Rose.

"Does that answer your question?" Marie said.

"It does," Amy replied, turning her gaze on Marie. Marie looked into her eyes. She smiled, as if she recognized something in them.

"Well, shall we have dinner?" Rose said.

Rose didn't have to worry about the conversation lagging. As soon as they settled into their chairs, talk began to flow. Sylvia listened intently, her eyes darting from one speaker to another. She loved times like this.

"You haven't been to Europe?" Marie said, aghast. "How can you call yourself an artist?"

"I don't always," Amy replied. "Sometimes I call myself nothing. But why does a trip to Europe matter? It won't help me become a better painter."

"But you'll see so many things," Marie said. "You can't imagine."

"She's right," Jack agreed. "I went, years ago, and it changed my life. I learned about artists I probably wouldn't have seen otherwise. I saw incredible work. I got close enough to touch it." His blue eyes sparkled with the memory.

'The two of you certainly endorse it," Amy said. "What about you, Alan? Rose?"

"I've been a few times," Alan said. "I enjoyed it. I wouldn't say it's necessary. There's plenty to see right here."

"I agree," Amy said, nodding approvingly. "What do you say, Rose?"

"I went once, a long time ago," Rose answered. "I didn't enjoy it as much as I could have. I wasn't in such good company then, but I want to go back someday. I had quite a collection of paintings by the time I left," she said, a faraway look in her eyes.

"What happened to them?" Alan asked.

'They were lost," Rose said. "It was very unfortunate."

…

Rose hadn't intended for the evening to be a matchmaking session, but she hoped a couple might form because of it. That didn't seem likely, however. The three guests appeared to be interested only in being friends, though a warm intimacy was already developing between Amy and Marie. They tried not to, but they kept drifting off into conversations by themselves.

Rose sighed contentedly when the door was closed for the last time. "That went well, don't you think?"

"It was fun," Jack said. "I'm glad we did it."

"So am I. It's nice having friends over as a couple, isn't it? It makes me feel so married," she added, with a laugh.

"That's what makes you feel married?"

"As much as anything else," she replied. "I like doing things with you, Jack. I like showing you off. I like being seen together."

"I know what you mean," Jack said. He held out his hand. "Ready for bed?"

"Yes. I'm exhausted." As if to prove it, she yawned.

"Want me to carry you?" he offered.

"Is that a joke?"

"Nope," he said.

Rose laughed as he swung her up in his arms. She looped an arm around his neck. "Carrying me off to bed, how romantic," she said. "I wish I weren't so tired and could appreciate it more."

"That's why we're goin to bed."

"You know what I mean," she said.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "There's tomorrow." He grinned. "There's the morning."

"That seems wrong, somehow," Rose said, as he put her down. "It sounds like something we aren't allowed to do."

"I'm sure it's alright," he said.

She kissed him sweetly. "I know. It's you, after all."

…..

Jack wasn't surprised when another letter from Ruth arrived. This time he didn't hesitate before reading it.

 _Mr. Dawson,_ it began. He was almost pleased that she hadn't dropped the formal tone. Being addressed as Jack, by her, would have sounded unnatural.

 _I cannot quite believe your claims that Rose wishes to see me. If she does, why isn't she writing herself? I wonder if she even knows about this correspondence of ours. You have told her, I presume?_

He hadn't told Rose. Jack felt as if Ruth could see him. She knew, somehow. He felt guilty. But he was just trying to bring them back together.

 _Thank you for the photograph. I enjoyed seeing her again, after all this time. She certainly looks well, much better than I dared hope. You're managing to provide for her. Commendable. I wouldn't have expected it._

He let out a breath. It wasn't worth getting offended over. If Ruth knew the whole story, her comments would be much worse. Not telling her everything might have been a mistake, but it had seemed like too much to explain at the beginning. He was shocked she wrote back the first time. Anger curdles even the strongest love, if it's held on to. But Ruth had placed all of her anger on him.

 _I didn't know what to think when you said you and Rose had a daughter. I can hardly imagine Rose as a mother. She's still too young, but she isn't really, anymore. Sometimes I forget how much time has passed._

Jack felt a twinge of sympathy. He knew exactly how she felt. It was terrible to lose time with someone you loved, for any reason.

 _She looks like a lovely child. Fortunately, she resembles Rose as much, if not more, than she does you. I only hope she causes the two of you less grief._

 _I need more time to consider your invitation. I would like to hear from Rose before I accept. The last thing I want is another melodramatic scene._

Jack knew he wouldn't be able to surprise Rose with a visit from her mother. It would be a disaster. She would never forgive him. But would she agree to such a thing? She wanted to see her mother again. He was certain of that. But would she be willing to go through with it? And what about Sylvia? Was it fair to bring yet another long lost relative into her life?

He raked his fingers through his hair. Sylvia deserved all the family she could get, didn't she? He had none to offer, but maybe, he could make up for that.

…..

Jack wasn't sure how to bring it up. In the end he decided to just say it, as plainly as he could. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice Rose was similarly preoccupied. Unlike him, however, she was happy. She hummed while she made dinner. Her eyes shone, and she kept smiling, for no reason at all.

Sylvia noticed. Her mother had never been especially unhappy, as far as she knew, but this was different. It reminded her of the way she acted after Jack first started coming around. She wondered at its cause. Rose showed no sign of letting them in on the secret, though, and Sylvia went off to play after dinner, none the wiser.

"Jack, we need to talk," Rose said.

"We do," he said. "There's something I need to tell you."

"I have something to tell you."

"You go first," Jack offered.

"Well—" Rose took a deep breath. For the first time he noticed the look in her eyes, the nervous way she kept folding and refolding her hands. He began getting nervous himself. "I'm pregnant," she said excitedly.

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "What?" he said. "Are you really?"

Rose nodded. "Yes. I found out today."

"I can't believe it." He laughed. He pulled her into his lap. "Really?" he said again, smiling brightly.

"Really, Jack." She ran her fingers through his hair. "We're going to have another one."

"You know before, when I said I was happy? I was wrong. I'm happy now," he said.

She kissed him. "So am I. I was starting to wonder if it would happen. I was getting impatient, I guess. I want this so badly."

"I do too," he said.

"What were you going to tell me?" Rose asked.

Jack hesitated. He was afraid bringing it up would ruin the moment. But then again, it might be the perfect time to discuss it. "You remember when we talked about your mother?" he said.

"Yes." Rose looked at him curiously.

"Well, I did some thinking, and I wrote to her."

"You did? Why?" she said.

"I thought it would be good for you to see her again," he answered. "It's been a long time. I know you'd like to, and Sylvia should have a chance to meet her. I don't have any family to give her, but you do."

Rose was silent. He waited for her to respond. Her face offered no clues. "I can't believe you did that," she said finally. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you and find out how she felt before getting your hopes up," he replied. "Are you upset?"

"No. I'm just shocked," she said. "I never expected to hear this. How did she react?"

"She hates me, but she wants to see you."

"She doesn't hate me?" Rose said. "That's hard to believe."

"She misses you."

"That's even harder to believe," she said.

"You'd miss Sylvia," Jack pointed out.

"But we're different. I actually see her every day. I…our relationship was never simple, Jack. My mother and I, we didn't get along very well, and we didn't talk very much. And I've disappointed her."

"You don't hafta worry about that," he said. "She blames me for everything."

"I don't want that," Rose said. "It isn't fair. You didn't drag me away with you."

"No, I bewitched you," he said.

"Did she say that?"

"More or less," he said. "I've got the letters here, if you want to read them."

"Yes, I'd like to," she said.

Rose read each letter slowly. When she finished she sighed. "What are you gonna do?" Jack asked.

"I'm not sure."

She lay awake all night thinking about it. The next morning, Rose went to her desk and wrote a letter.


	11. Chapter 11

Most of the other children were already gone. A few lingered, talking in small groups. They were older, and they seemed to have a purpose about them. Sylvia knew she was the only one waiting for someone. The others walked home by themselves. She envied them, frightened though she was by the idea of setting out alone.

Sylvia tried to keep herself occupied. He was only a few minutes late, after all. There was no need to worry. She turned the pages of her book. The words blurred together. She kept it open anyway; holding it was reassuring. She didn't look up when Grace approached. She stared at her book silently, ignoring this semi-stranger. If she ignored her long enough, Sylvia reasoned, she would go away.

"Hello again," Grace said. Her smile was too bright. Sylvia stiffened when she sat down next to her. "You don't have to be afraid," Grace went on. "We've met, remember? I know your father."

"I know."

"Are you waiting for him?"

"Yes," Sylvia said grudgingly.

Grave clucked her tongue. "He's late, isn't he? He should know better than to leave you alone like this. Anything could happen."

Sylvia snuck a glance at Grace. Her words were unsettling, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't look threatening. Her voice wasn't angry or cold. All the same, Sylvia felt a threat coming from her. It was stronger now. This woman was someone to be avoided.

"I didn't say that to make you nervous," Grace said.

Sylvia held her head up defiantly. "I'm not."

"Good then. Has he said anything about me?"

"No. Why would he?"

"I don't know," Grace replied. "I just thought maybe he told you how we know one another."

"No."

"I know he didn't always live with you and your mother," Grace said in a confidential tone. Sylvia stared at her as if the statement had no meaning. "He lived with me first," Grace explained.

Sylvia wanted to ask why. She wanted to know why these things were being said. She wanted to say she didn't believe it. Jack would never prefer anyone to Rose, especially not this woman with her cold eyes. She remained silent, though. She was afraid to speak. The words wouldn't come out right. She might cry. Where was he?

"I'll leave you to wait," Grace said. Sylvia glared in response. She rounded the corner just as Jack appeared, coming from the other direction. He hurried toward Sylvia. "I'm so sorry," he said, dropping down next to her. "Are you alright?" Sylvia nodded. "You sure?" he asked. He looked her over before hugging her tightly.

Sylvia was glad when he picked her up off the ground. The fear was gone. She felt untouchable in his arms. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said. "Really, I am. I won't let that happen again. You shouldn't be out here by yourself."

"What happened?" she asked.

"A meeting at work that lasted a lot longer than it was supposed to. I couldn't leave. I know it doesn't help," Jack said. "I know you were probably scared. I—"

"I wasn't afraid," she said. "I knew you'd get here, sooner or later. You wouldn't just leave me."

Jack shook his head. "No, I wouldn't," he said. "I'd never leave you. I love you, Syl." Sylvia had already decided not to tell about her encounter with Grace. It would only cause problems. "You know that, right?" he added.

"I know," she said. "I love you too."

"Shall we go home?"

She nodded. "Let's."

….

Rose wound yarn into a ball. It was soft, just right for a baby. When Sylvia was born she hadn't known how to knit. She hadn't made anything for her. All of her things came secondhand, even when she used Cal's money. Rose could only bring herself to spend a little of it at a time, and Sylvia outgrew clothes so quickly anyway. She did embroider her name on a few things. Her blanket said "Sylvia" in pretty, carefully done letters.

Things would be different for this baby. It wasn't fair, Rose thought. Why did this child get both parents right from the start? Why did this one get the stable home with enough money and new clothes and a room of its own? A mother who wasn't guilty or worried all the time?

There wasn't any point thinking about it, she told herself. Jack sat in his usual chair, drawing. Sylvia was on his lap. They talked in low voices. Rose couldn't see the drawing, but she saw how intently they looked at it. She smiled, glad yet again Jack was there.

Rose picked up the needles and began knitting. First a blanket and then a hat, maybe a sweater. Definitely socks. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the tiny socks she would have to make. Her children would have everything. Those early years of deprivation would fade from memory. Sylvia might even forget life before Jack. Rose almost hoped she would. Despite what they'd said, she worried Sylvia would feel different from the new baby or jealous. Part of her feared she would love her more because of the time they spent alone, the struggle to keep her and care for her. It wasn't a fear Rose acknowledged. Mothers love all their children the same, she reminded herself, or they should.

She thought of her own mother more and more now. The letter had been sent, but no reply had arrived yet. Rose dreaded its coming. She could already hear Ruth's voice, reproachful and hurt. The disappointment she caused by running away would never end. Rose wondered if it would have been so bad if there had been other children for Ruth to focus her attention on. How many times had she heard Ruth sigh, "If only I had a son"?

Rose hated this longed-for-brother. She always had. She didn't like thinking about it. If he existed, or if she had been a boy, everything would have been better. There was no mistaking Ruth's meaning, or the way she looked at Rose and sighed again, as if to say, "If I can only have a daughter, why can't she be better?"

Rose swore to never be that way with her children. She would never make them feel less than or burden them with guilt. She would never be disappointed in them for choosing happiness.

…..

Ruth was afraid to open the letter. Rose's handwriting was unmistakable. She hadn't expected Rose to actually write back. If anything, she expected another letter from Jack, apologizing and explaining Rose preferred not to see her after all.

 _Mother,_ it began. Ruth bristled at this. Was a proper address too much for Rose now? Had she lived among the lower classes so long she had forgotten _everything_ she'd been taught about etiquette? Ruth read on.

 _I was rather surprised when Jack told me he'd written to you. I was even more shocked when he showed me your letters. I never expected to hear from you again. My last words to you were "Good-bye", and for a long time I meant them completely. I had to cut off my old life. I couldn't risk any attempt to bring me back. I was through with that world and everyone in it. The girl I was before really was dead, the way all the newspapers claimed. I made a new life with a new name, and I tried to forget everything that happened before._

 _Now I'm not sure that was the right choice. I had to go; there was no other way, but perhaps I should have written to you sooner. It wasn't fair to let you believe I was dead. I see that now. I just didn't want to risk being pulled back in. I knew what you would say if we met again, especially if it was too soon._

 _You shouldn't blame Jack for my running away and not marrying Cal. I never wanted that life. I couldn't stand him. He was awful. Couldn't you see that? Did you never see how miserable I was, or did you think I would get over it eventually?_

 _I wouldn't have, and I knew it. I would have died if I stayed. I might have done it to myself. I certainly wanted to. You never knew that, did you?_

 _All Jack did was help me admit my life had to change. He never forced me into anything. He's the most wonderful man I've ever known. He's one of the best things that's ever happened to me. Sylvia is the other, so far._

 _I do want her to meet you. She deserves that, and so do you. If you're willing, I'm re-extending Jack's invitation to come and stay with us. We have plenty of room._

 _Rose._

Memories of Rose came rushing back as she read. It was as if it just happened. Her grief was fresh again, inconsolable.

…..

"What have you been doing lately?" Marie asked. "I feel like I haven't seen you in years. There was your dinner, of course, but we didn't get to really talk. How are you, Rose? Tell me everything."

"I'm not sure where to start," Rose replied. "You know I haven't gotten another job. I decided to take some time for myself, to write, and for the family as well."

"How are things with Jack?"

Rose smiled. "They're perfect. No, I shouldn't say that. Nothing's perfect. They _are_ fantastic, however. I didn't know I could be this happy. It's like when we first met, only—" She searched for the word. " _Better_ ," she finished. It was the closest she could come to describing it.

Marie smiled slightly. "I'm glad it's going well."

"I knew you were worried, right up until I married him," Rose said. "You don't have to worry. I appreciate it. It's nice knowing someone cares about us."

"You two will always be important to me."

"You're like family," Rose said. "You know that. I don't have any, really, and I've always thought of you as the older sister I didn't have."

Marie kept her expression light. She was an expert at hiding her feelings. "Yes, like a sister," she said.

"That's why I want you to know, we're having another baby," Rose said. "I'm pregnant."

"Already?" Marie said, astonished. "You just got married. It's only been a few months. Isn't it a little soon?"

"For another couple, maybe, but not for us," Rose said. "We've lost so much time already. I want more children, and so does Jack. We're able to do it now. We have the money. He had a great job, and I can take care of the babies and still write."

"It sounds like you have everything figured out," Marie said. "What does Sylvia think?"

"We haven't told her yet. I only found out last week. We're waiting for the right time. I'm sure she'll take it well. We've talked about the possibility of having more children."

"And she's still getting along with Jack?" Marie asked.

"Of course. She adores him. They're always together. It's almost like he was here the whole time."

In her happiness, Rose didn't realize anything she was saying might hurt her friend. It never occurred to her Marie might feel replaced—and easily so, at that. Marie was glad Rose was happy. She wanted her to be. She wanted everything good for them. But she missed them at the same time. The house was silent and empty now.

…

Rose was already settled into bed when Jack came in. She had a book propped on her knees. "You feel alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she said brightly.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You aren't going to be overprotective now, are you Jack?"

"Me?" he said. "Never. I don't care what happens to you."

"Of course you don't." Rose kissed him as she got into bed. "I wouldn't expect anything else," she added.

"You'll tell me if you need anything?" he said.

"I'll tell you." Rose lay against him, his arms around her. She put her hand over his. "You and Sylvia drew for a long time tonight."

"She had a lot of ideas. She didn't want to go to bed. I've never had any trouble getting her to bed before," he said.

"She's usually cooperative about that," Rose said. "She prefers spending time with you, apparently, and who wouldn't?" She paused. "Jack, I wrote to my mother."

"Really?"

"I almost didn't. I haven't heard back yet," she said. "I probably won't." There was regret in her voice."

"Sure you will," Jack said reassuringly. "If she answered my letters, why wouldn't she answer yours? She hates me. You're the one she cares about."

"I may have been too harsh. I don't know. I didn't think so at the time. I wanted to be honest. I wanted her to know how I felt. If she's going to be in my life again—in _our_ lives—we have to be honest. I don't want to tiptoe around things."

"What'd you say?" he asked.

"I told her I was happy, and she shouldn't blame you for what happened. I told her the truth, that I had to leave, or I would have died." She smiled wryly. "And I said what an awful person Cal was."

Jack chuckled. "You really said that?"

"Not in detail. I doubt she knows about what happened after I went to find you, or that he set you up. Well, maybe she knew that. If I realized it, she should have too."

"She doesn't know me the way you do," he pointed out. "You can't expect too much."

"You're defending her?" Rose arched an eyebrow."

"Not entirely. I don't want you focusing too much on what happened back then," he said. "You've got a chance for a better relationship now."

"I hope so. I keep thinking about Sylvia and the baby and what I'd feel if I lost them. I know I said it was different, but I'm not so sure it is anymore."

"Did you tell her that?" he asked.

"No. I will if she comes here. Jack, it's so odd. I understand her more now. I don't agree with her. I wouldn't do that to my daughter, but I understand why she thought Cal was the better choice, in spite of everything. When she talked about women's choices and having to compromise, I didn't believe her. I _was_ very naïve then, just like she said. I'm not anymore."

"Do you wish you hadn't gone with me?"

"No. No, Jack, I've never wished that," she said. "As hard as my life was at first and as much as I missed you, that was still one of the best decisions I ever made."

He kissed her cheek. "You ever think about if I hadn't gone to that play?"

"I try not to." Rose titled her head up to look at him. "Do you think we would have been this happy if we'd been together the whole time?"

"I think so. You mean cause we woulda been poor at first?"

"We might still be poor," she said.

"No." Jack shook his head. "I wouldn'tve let the two of you need anything."

Looking into his eyes it was impossible not to believe him. Rose put her arms around him. She started to speak but kissed him instead.

…..

This anxious feeling was as unwanted as it was new. Sylvia didn't know how to make it go away. She couldn't control it. It crept over her when she wasn't expecting it. Suddenly, everything else was forgotten, overshadowed by the fear that something terrible had happened, that he was gone.

It wasn't so much Jack being late to pick walk her home. She would have gotten over that. He hadn't been late again. Some days he was early. When she came out of school she found him waiting, a part of a drawing on his knee. He was early that day. She felt relief when she saw him. He looked up from the paper and grinned. "Hey, Syl." He closed the sketchbook and stood up to take her hand. "How was school?"

"It was fine."

"Yeah? You learn anything new?"

"I learned new math," she answered.

"Oh really? I was never good at math."

"You weren't?" she said. "What were you good at?"

"I liked history and geography. I liked learning about the world, you know? I always wanted to go see the placed I read about."

"And you did, right?" Sylvia said.

"Some of 'em," he replied.

"Did you travel by yourself?"

"Not always," Jack said. "I had friends who traveled with me sometimes." He felt her eyes on him and knew she expected more of an answer than that. Jack wasn't sure what to say.

"You met Mama while you were traveling."

He nodded. "I did."

Sylvia didn't know what she wanted him to tell her. Since the encounter with Grace she'd wanted to ask him about his life before. She wanted to know if what Grace said was true. Had she lived with her too, the way he did with them? Had he loved her? Was there another little girl somewhere, waiting for him to come back? For the first time since they met, Sylvia doubted if Jack would stay.

"Is something wrong, Syl?" he asked.

"No." Her expression was somber. "I was just curious."

They walked in silence. Jack snuck looks at her and wondered what she was thinking. She seemed almost angry with him, but he couldn't figure out what for. Had he done something to upset her? They hadn't told her about the baby yet. It couldn't be that. Or did she sense it somehow? Maybe, he decided, all the changes were finally hitting her. He understood that. A lot had happened in such a short time. He was just now letting himself believe this was actually his life.

"Did you travel with girls?" she asked, as they went inside.

"What?" Jack was taken aback by the question. "You mean, besides your mother?"

"Yes. Did you?"

Sylvia looked up at him through eyes that were so much like his own. Jack struggled for an answer. "Sometimes," he said. "It wasn't a lie. She didn't need to know any more than that, not at her age.

"Did you love them?"

Now he saw Rose in her, the Rose who could blithely announce she was running away with him. "No," he said. "I never loved anyone but your mother."


	12. Chapter 12

The next month went by quickly. Jack was busier than he had been since coming back to America. He was arranging three exhibitions, meeting with artists, and handling the sale of a private collection. Parties had to be thrown for each exhibition, but the planning of those was mostly being done by his assistants, Henri and Louisa.

Rose was in the middle of a new play. She was also trying to write her own story, or as much of it as she could manage. Telling everything, with all the names and details intact, wasn't possible. Too many people would object if she ever tried to publish it. She finished three pairs of tiny socks and half a blanket. The steady click of her needles filled the evenings.

Outwardly, things remained mostly the same between Sylvia and Jack, but she was slowly withdrawing more and more, her anxiety growing. When he came home late one evening she wondered if he was coming back at all. Rose noticed something amiss, but none of her questions led to the root of the problem.

It wasn't constant. Most of the time Sylvia was fine, laughing and chattering just as she always had. She still sat with Jack when he drew, but now she hesitated before letting him go. "You know, you can tell us if something's wrong," Rose assured her. "We talked about this, remember?"

Sylvia nodded. "I remember."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Rose asked gently. "Did something happen at school?"

Sylvia shook her head. "Nothing happened. I like school."

"And you get along with the other children? You haven't had a fight with any of your friends?"

"No," Sylvia said. "I get along with everyone. Why?"

"I just want to know everything's alright," Rose said. "So I can help if it isn't."

Sylvia knew her mother couldn't help with this. She couldn't tell her about this fear. Rose trusted Jack completely. Sylvia saw the way her whole face lit up when he came in. She wanted Rose to keep looking that way; she wanted Jack to keep coming home, to keep swinging Rose around and kissing her; she wanted him to keep making Swedish pancakes and telling her stories and drawing the pictures she asked for.

Sylvia didn't know how to say all of that. It was too much. Their family felt so fragile now, and she hated. Never had anything felt uncertain or fragile, which made things worse. Whenever they were out somewhere she kept watch for Grace. Sylvia was determined not to be caught unaware again. She was sure Grace would appear just long enough to make some seemingly innocent remark that would further alter their little world.

…..

"Do you think Sylvia seems unhappy?" Rose said. She handed Jack a dish to dry. "Or anxious?"

"Sort of. A little," Jack answered. "I asked her about it, and she said everything was fine."

"That's what she told me too."

"You don't believe it," he said.

'Do you?"

"No," he said. "I don't know what's wrong, though. I thought it was me at first; maybe I'd done something, but she's not avoiding me. She doesn't seem angry with me."

"No, I don't think she's angry with you. That isn't the problem," Rose agreed. "I think she's scared, or maybe nervous would be a better word."

"Why would she be nervous?"

"I don't know," she said. "She's never been like this before."

"Maybe we should tell her about the baby," Jack suggested. "She might sense we're keeping something from her, you know?"

"That could be it." Rose looked down at her hands.

"Whatever it is, we'll figure it out, Rose," he said. "She's gonna be fine."

"I know. I can't help worrying about her. She's still so little. She shouldn't be nervous about anything. That's for us. She should be happy." Rose laid a hand on her middle. "This one too."

Jack put his arms around her. "They will be," he said, kissing her cheek. "And you too." She leaned against him. "Are _you_ feeling alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine. So far, this has been easy," she said. "It's a lot like the way I felt with her."

"Do you need anything?"

"No." Rose kissed him. "It's nice to be asked. I didn't have that before."

"Tell me when you need something," Jack said. "I don't care what it is. I'll get it."

"I know you will, Jack. You don't have to keep telling me. I'm not afraid you'll disappear."

Her comment made Jack wonder if that wasn't what Sylvia feared.

…..

They decided to tell her together, the next day. Jack was staying home, and she didn't have school. As he tucked her into bed that night, he couldn't help asking, "Did I do something, Syl?"

She averted her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't seemed like yourself lately," he said. "I just wanna know if something's bothering you. It's okay if it's me. You can tell me. Especially if it's me."

"Did you ever have another family?" she asked.

"You mean, like my own parents? Yeah, of course."

"No, I mean is there—" Sylvia faltered.

Jack touched her hair. Rose was right; she was still such a little girl. She was so smart and so mature for her age that he forgot sometimes. Overall, she had adjusted well to this new life, but it was foolish to expect her not to have questions or reservations.

"Is there another little girl somewhere?" he asked. She nodded. "No," he said. "You're the only one. I promise. You and your mother are the only family I have, and I wouldn't trade you for anything."

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm sure. The only thing I'd change is being away from you," Jack said. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me," Sylvia said, trying to appear unruffled. "I was just curious."

There was Rose in her again, the Rose who insisted everything was fine, even when it was obvious nothing was fine. Pressing Rose hadn't helped either. "Alright," Jack said. "But if you want to talk, you know where I am, Syl." He kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you."

"Get to sleep. We'll do something fun tomorrow," he promised.

Falling asleep was easier that night, but there was still a small knot of fear that refused to be untied. She couldn't forget what Grace said, and even though she didn't want to, she wondered what else Grace knew.

…..

They went for a walk after lunch. Sylvia held their hands, safely between them, skipping along to their steps. Clouds gathered, threatening rain, but the day was nice anyway. They followed the paths in the park.

"Syvvy," Rose began. "There's something we want to tell you."

Sylvia looked up at her anxiously. "What is it?" she asked, sure she already knew the answer. Without meaning to, she tightened her grip in Jack's hand. He put his other hand over hers, in an effort to reassure her. "Why don't we sit down?" he suggested.

"Do you remember when we talked about how other children might come eventually?" Rose said.

Sylvia looked from Rose to Jack. "Yes."

"We're gonna have another one soon," Jack said.

"A baby?" Sylvia said.

"Yes," Rose answered. "A baby. In a few months, not right away. There'll be time to get used to the idea."

"Why?" Sylvia asked.

"We like you so much we decided two would be twice as good," Jack said. He hoped he didn't sound as awkward as he felt. This was no better than the first time she asked him about this. He wasn't sure how to explain it to a child. He wished his parents had explained it, not other boys; it would have made the situation easier. He glanced at Rose for guidance, but she was having as much trouble as he was.

"That's pretty much it," Rose said. "We won't love you any less, and now you won't be alone."

"Where does it come from?" Sylvia asked.

"Well, it…" Rose didn't know what to say.

"It…" Jack said. They looked at each other. What answer could they give? They had to tell the truth, or at least some version of it. It wouldn't be right to tell her something that would make her think sex was bad, but then again, they couldn't possibly bring that up. "It's like we talked about before," Jack said. "They come from the stars."

"But why?" she asked.

"Because we wanted one," Rose said.

"Why does it take so long?" Sylvia asked.

"It's not big enough yet," Jack said. "It has to grow into a baby, like the way flowers grow."

"Where?" Sylvia's curiosity about this completely overshadowed her fears about Jack leaving. She saw babies all the time, but until now she hadn't given much thought to where they came from or why.

As she faced the question, Rose understood why her mother always refused to explain anything to her. Perhaps she had simply been unable to talk about such things. With Jack, Rose could say anything. She felt free to do anything. What happened between them wasn't a secret they tried to ignore. It didn't go on in the dark; it never had. But she realized explaining any of that to her daughter, no matter what her age, would be difficult.

Jack looked like he was being strangled by the answers. Sylvia's gaze was on him, and he was startled by the realization that it wouldn't be long before she needed the real answers about all of it. It wasn't a pleasant though. Suddenly, he was worried about what would happen to her once she was too old to walk between them.

…

The letter arrived a few days later. This one came to the apartment instead of Jack's office. He handed it to Rose. "From your mother," he said.

"Let's see what she has to say," Rose said, opening it. He watched her read, but her expression didn't change. When she finished she folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. "She's coming here."

"She is?" he said. "When?'

"In three weeks."

"That's really soon," Jack said. "Are you sure you're alright with her coming that so quickly?"

"Why put it off? It's already been over five years since we saw each other," she answered. "And if she waits too long I'll be even more pregnant. I'd rather tell her myself instead of her seeing it."

"How long is she staying?"

"She didn't say. A few days, at least. I hope not too long," Rose said. I want to see her, but I don't know how well this will go."

"Rose, it's gonna be fine," Jack said. "You're both trying. Things are different now. You'll see."

"What if she gets here and decides she's still angry? What if she tells Sylvia about what happened?" Rose said. "She doesn't know we were apart. What is she going to say when she finds out?"

"It doesn't matter what she says. We're together now, and we're gonna stay together. If she wants you in her life, she'll keep those criticisms to herself. She won't say anything like that to Sylvia," he said reassuringly. "And she'll politely hate me the way she did at dinner that night."

She laughed. "She hated you so much."

Jack moved his thumb down her cheek. "This is gonna be good, Rose. You'll see."

"I should write her back. Three weeks isn't much time to get everything in order," she said.

"What do you need done? I'll help."

"You're busy already. I can manage," she said. "One more thing to explain to Sylvia. Poor thing." She shook her head.

"She's doing better, though, right?" he said. "She seems happier."

"She does," Rose agreed. "I don't know what was wrong, but she's getting over it. I hope. She took the news about the baby well, at least."

"Except for all those questions we couldn't answer."

"We did just fine," she said. "She knows everything a child her age needs to know. It's certainly more than I ever knew when I was that old."

"What did your mother tell you?" Jack asked, intrigued. He couldn't imagine Ruth having that sort of discussion. It was definitely not a topic the Rose he met back then would have discussed either.

"She didn't tell her anything. She shook her head and told me to never ask questions like that again. When I got older she tried to talk to me," Rose explained. "It didn't go well. Most of what she said turned out to be untrue."

"Really? Like what?"

"Well, I ended up with you," she said. "So you should be able to figure it out." She kissed him quickly. Before he could reply she added, "I guess I'll go write that letter now."

….

"I like that one," Sylvia said, pointing to the painting on the right.

"Yeah?" Jack said. "What do you like about it?"

"The colors. They're so bright. I want to touch them."

"I like the colors too," he said. "It looks real, doesn't it?"

"No, it looks more than real. It's—" Sylvia didn't know the word for what she wanted to say. The paintings were all so incredible. She wanted to spend the whole day looking at just this one. It would take at least that long to learn all of its secrets.

"Better than real?" he offered.

"No, just _different_."

So far Sylvia hadn't shown any inclination toward drawing, but she loved art. Rose had made sure she was surrounded by it, in every form. They had gone to museums together, and she was allowed to lead the way through the exhibits. If Sylvia liked something, that was where they stayed. Rose encouraged her to explore and to try and understand why she like done thing rather than another. No-one in Rose's family ever appreciated art, not paintings, not sculpture, not literature or music, not even the theater. They collected art. They attended plays, ballets, operas, and they patronized the arts, but they didn't love them. It was simply what one did. It showed one's good breeding.

Jack and Sylvia walked slowly through the museum. They were the only ones there. Friday evenings, they discovered, weren't a popular time. Most people would rather be at the pictures or out dancing. Jack didn't like seeing movies in a crowded theater, and the museum was Sylvia's choice.

"It's too bad Mama couldn't come with us," she said.

"She'll come next time. She just needed some rest."

"Is she sick?" she asked.

"No," he said. "She's fine. You don't hafta worry about her. Syl, you don't hafta worry about anything. A lot's changed these last few months, but we love you, and it's all gonna settle down soon."

"What about when the baby comes?"

"That'll be another change," he agreed. "For all of us, but it's a good change. It may not seem that way at first, but when the baby gets older, you'll have someone else to play with and talk to. You can teach things to her. I never had that."

"I'm not worried about the baby so much."

"Good," Jack said. "If you were, it would be alright. It'd make sense. Syl, whatever you feel, it's alright."

"I know," Sylvia said. "You tell me that a lot. And Mama tells me that a lot."

"When she was a little girl, it wasn't like that for her," he explained. "There were a lot of rules, and she wasn't happy. We just want to be sure things aren't like that for you."

"Did you ever see her then?"

"When she was little? No," he said. "I wish I had. If I'd known her then—" He stopped. "I can see her that way now.

"How?"

"Every time I look at you," Jack replied. "You look just like her. I never thought I'd see that hair on someone else," he added, ruffling her curls.

"She always says I look like you."

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I look like her a little and like you a little," Sylvia said. "How does that happen?"

"It's just the way it happens."

That seemed to satisfy her, for the moment at least. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "You want to go see the sculptures?" he said.

She nodded. "Sure."

….

Rose was asleep on the couch when they got back. "Go on upstairs," Jack whispered. "I'll come help with your bath in a minute." Sylvia tiptoed, so as not to disturb Rose. Jack pulled the blanket up over her. "Is that you?" she said, yawning. "You're back already?"

"It's almost eight," he said. "Did you sleep the whole time?"

"Yes, but I don't feel like I did." Rose arched her back and stretched. "I'm so tired, Jack."

"You can go up to bed, if you want. I'm gonna help Sylvia with her bath, and I'll get her in bed."

"You've been so good," she said, taking his hand. "Thank you. The way you take care of her all the time, with everything else you have to do."

"You're my family," Jack said. "This is what I'm supposed to do. And I love spending time with her. I can't believe we got such a great kid."

'So, you two had fun tonight?"

"Yeah, she really liked it. We're going back next week. You can come, if you want," he said.

"Oh, I get an invitation?"

"I'd like it if you came," he said. "If you're up to it, I'd like if you came with to those openings."

"You mean the parties?" Rose said.

"The parties. My least favorite part."

"I thought you got to plan them."

"That's the idea," he said. "I don't really get that much say over what happens even when I'm more hands-on. They all have to be elegant affairs," he added in a haughty tone.

"I can't see you at an elegant affair," she said, mimicking his tone. "You wouldn't belong."

"Rose, I really don't want to go by myself. I—I hate these things. No-one's ever there to see the art. They talk about everything else."

"I know," she said. "Don't forget, I've been to several hundred parties just like that." She smiled up at him. "What's a few more? At least I'll be with you. The last time I went to an elegant affair I was with Cal. It was quite an evening."

"I'm sure. He won't be at either of these. I promise," Jack said.

"Good. When are they again?"

"The first one's in two weeks."

"My mother will be here by then," Rose said. "Someone will have to stay with Sylvia. We should probably invite her along. I doubt she'd want to stay home with Sylvia."

"You never know. You might be surprised, Petal."

"So optimistic," she said, kissing his hand.

There would indeed be surprises. Jack wasn't wrong about that.

 **AN: I'll probably post a couple more chapters next week, but then that will be it for updates until the end of July.**


	13. Chapter 13

At first Rose didn't believe they needed a guest room. The extra bedroom was intended for the baby, but now she realized if her mother's visit went well they would need one. She put new sheets on the bed. Fresh flowers were on the table. Every surface had been polished until it shone. Her mother would find the room lacking, somehow; Rose was certain of that. "You ready to go?" Jack asked. "The train's due in half an hour."

"I'm ready." She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress. Her belly was just starting to swell. It couldn't be seen when she was dressed, but it could be felt. Jack kept touching her, marveling at the difference.

They had explained Ruth to Sylvia, and she was eager to meet this mysterious grandmother. Rose hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. Jack hoped neither of them would be.

Ruth was one of the first to step off the train. Rose tightened her grip on Jack's hand as she walked toward them. Sylvia looked up at her with interest. Her hair was still red, but it was darker than hers and Rose's. Her eyes looked like Rose's, though. This, Sylvia decided, was a good sign. It was like the way she had Jack's eyes; it proved this woman was related to her. Ruth studied them silently. Jack felt as if they were under inspection. Rose stood stiffly next to him. He wanted to squeeze her hand, but she was holding it too tightly.

Sylvia broke the silence. "Hello." She held out her hand. Ruth looked down at her with a mixture of curiosity and astonishment. "I'm Sylvia," she went on. Jack and Rose waited to see what would happen next. If she rebuffed Sylvia—

"Yes, I know," Ruth said. Her tone was formal but not unkind. She gave Sylvia her hand for a brief shake. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course," Sylvia replied. "You're my grandmother."

Ruth's expression was hard to read. "Yes." She turned to Rose, and her eyes widened slightly. Rose attempted a smile. They regarded one another cautiously. Jack wanted to step back and out of the moment, but Rose wouldn't let him. "Hello, Mother," Rose managed to say. "You look well."

"Rose." For a moment Ruth was at a loss for words. "So do you," she said. You look…better than in the photo."

"Which one do you have?" Rose asked.

"I sent it," Jack said. "It was a good one."

Ruth noticed him for the first time. "It was very nice," she said politely. "Thank you."

"There's more," Jack said. "If you want—"

"Yes, I'd like to see them," Ruth said.

"Shall we go home?" Rose suggested. "Is that the only bag you brought?"

"No, I have a trunk," Ruth replied.

"I'll get it," Jack offered. Rose let go of his hand reluctantly. They stood in awkward silence until he returned.

….

"This is it," Rose said, leading them into the apartment. "Home."

Ruth looked around, taking in the carefully selected, secondhand, not quite antique furniture, the paintings, the bookshelves, the colors. Jack's art supplies were spread out on a table in the living room, near the chair he sat in. Sylvia's school bag was by the couch. Rose's knitting spilled out of its basket. This was a place where they spent a lot of time; Ruth say that immediately. Their lives rushed over her, real now for the first time.

"Would you like to see the rest?" Rose asked. "I'll show you to your room first." Ruth followed, still taking in her surroundings. She saw the designs Jack had painted on the doorknobs and wondered at them. "This is a nice room," she said.

"It wasn't finished until a few days ago," Rose said. "You're the first guest we've had here."

"You haven't lived here long?"

Rose shook her head. "We've only been here a few months." She hesitated. "We—" She was saved from further explanation by Sylvia. "Can I help with the tour, Mama?" she asked, rushing up to Rose.

"Of course you can," Rose answered. "Where's your father?"

"He said to tell you he's getting lunch together," Sylvia replied. "It'll be ready soon." She turned to Ruth. "I can show you the parts I painted."

"You painted?" Ruth said.

"Uh-huh," Sylvia said. Without thinking, she took Ruth's hand. It felt like the right thing to do. Ruth stared at her, and Rose worried she would respond harshly. In fact, that was Ruth's first instinct. Children were never to behave the way Sylvia did. She couldn't possibly encourage it. When Rose was a child—but she lost Rose, didn't she? "Show me," Ruth said, her voice softening slightly. Rose breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

….

"And this is my room," Sylvia said proudly. "I painted here and here," she added, indicating parts of the walls. "And over there."

"What are those?" Ruth asked.

"That one's a princess," Sylvia explained. "She has magical powers, and that one's a fairy. The other one's a girl who lives with dragons."

"I see," Ruth said slowly.

"I made them up," Sylvia said. "And Daddy painted them for me. He draws all my stories." She handed Ruth a stack of drawings. "See?"

Ruth flipped through the papers, only half-seeing the pictures of dragons, witch-princesses, and fairies. It was all so overwhelming. Sylvia reminded her more and Rose than she'd anticipated. "Very nice," she said. Briefly, Rose's eyes met hers, and both waited for the other to speak, but again, it was Sylvia who did.

Ruth could only stare when they got to Jack and Rose's room. Rose didn't want to show her, but she couldn't say so with Sylvia so eager to share the whole apartment. "He painted this too, I presume," Ruth said.

Rose nodded. "It was a surprise for me."

"That sounds like something he would do." From Ruth's tone it was impossible to tell if that was good or bad.

….

Rose leaned against the kitchen door, breathing slowly. "You alright?" Jack asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine," she said. "I just needed a minute."

"It's going well then?"

"I suppose. It isn't a disaster," she said. "She and Sylvia are getting along so far."

"That's good. That's what you wanted, right?"

"It is," Rose said. "I feel so tense around her, though. We've hardly said three words to each other. Sylvia's doing all the talking."

"It'll take time to get comfortable," Jack said. "You can't pick up where you left off with everyone."

"I think we _are_ picking up where we left off. That's the problem. When I said good-bye, I meant it. I never expected or intended to see her again. You and I were going to go off and….and things don't go the way you expect, do they?" she said.

Jack kissed her. "No, they don't," he said. "But sometimes they work out anyway."

"I'm glad you're here. I couldn't do this alone, Jack."

"Sure you could," he said. "And you wouldn't be alone anyway. You've got Sylvia. She's handling it fine."

"I'm so afraid my mother will say something to upset her."

"She's not gonna do that," he said. "Sylvia's too young. She's not gonna hurt her. I'm sure she'll have something to say to _me_ later," he added jokingly.

"I hope not. I want you two to get along."

"I'll try, Rose," Jack said. "You know I will." He kissed her again. "Why don't you go call them in for lunch?"

…

"What is it you do now?" Ruth turned her gaze on Jack.

He paused, his fork halfway between his mouth and his plate. "I work for a group of art collectors," he said. "Finding new work and older, more obscure things. I arrange for exhibitions, the selling of collections. I don't think there's really a title for it. I kinds made up the job. It pays well, though," he added.

"Your apartment gives that impression," Ruth said.

"Well, that's what we were goin for," he said, chuckling.

Rose smiled. "Jack has two new exhibitions coming up," she said. "Right now he's working on opening night parties for them."

Ruth looked slightly impressed. "Really?"

"My assistants are working on them mostly," Jack said. "And they're not for my work. Don't let Rose's wording fool you."

"They will be, someday," Rose said.

"It must be nice to have a wife who supports you so much," Ruth said.

"Yeah, it is," Jack said. "It makes everything easier. Did you tell you about the play?"

"Jack, I doubt she wants—" Rose began.

"Why not?" he said. "It's an accomplishment. I'm proud of you for it."

"So am I," Sylvia said.

"You both think it was good because I was involved," Rose said.

"We need another reason?" Jack said. "She wasn't just involved," he explained. "She wrote and played the lead, and it got great reviews, and the house was always full. Is that not an accomplishment?"

Rose knew what he was trying to do, but she also knew her mother looked down on those involved with the stage, no matter how many productions she attended. To her, this would be yet more proof of Rose's fall. She braced herself for the criticism. "Yes, it is," Ruth said. Rose couldn't believe her ears. Jack grinned across the table at her. "Do you really think so?" Rose said.

"It's a kind of accomplishment," Ruth said. "In your circles, I'm sure it is."

It was quite a compliment, but it wasn't quite a criticism either. Rose didn't know how to respond. "Thank you," she said. "It's too bad you didn't get to see it."

"Indeed," Ruth said.

…

They went about their evening routing as usual. Rose saw no reason to alter it. Ruth could fit in somehow. Jack agreed. After the dinner dishes were washed and put away, he and Sylvia settled in to draw. "What are you working on?" Ruth asked.

"It's a scene from one of Sylvia's stories," Jack replied.

"The Queen is riding out to meet the Pirate," Sylvia explained. "Only, really, she loves him, and he's not a Pirate all the time."

"I see," Ruth said, sounding like she didn't at all.

Rose picked up her knitting, "Syvvy's always making up fantastical stories," she said. "And when she isn't making them up, she's acting them out, and when she can't do that, she reads." She smiled proudly.

"She's certainly an intelligent child," Ruth said. She wanted to say more, to ask questions, but everything she said sounded wrong. She didn't mean to be stiff. She wasn't comfortable, though, not in this home and not with them. This wasn't a place for her; she didn't fit, and she wasn't sure if they were just too nice to say so. "This is something you do often?" Ruth said. "Draw together?"

"Every night," Sylvia said.

"And you don't mind?" Ruth said, turning to Jack.

"Of course not," he answered. "Why would I? I'd be drawing anyway. I might as well spend the time with her. If we didn't have Syl I'd be drawing with Rose," he added, grinning slightly.

"Do I get to make up stories too?" Rose asked, returning the grin,

"Whatever you want," he said.

Sylvia appeared undisturbed by this exchange, but Ruth felt as if she were intruding. This was a moment that didn't involve her. No matter what happened, it would never involve her. Jack and Rose had their own language, phrases and looks that meant nothing to her. The stars covering their bedroom meant something, but she didn't know what. Searching for a new topic she said, "What are you making, Rose?" Before Rose could answer she added, "I didn't know you knitted."

"I learned a few years ago," Rose said. "I taught myself." She stitched quickly, moving the needles with ease. "I wasn't always this good at it. It took a lot of practice."

"It's a pretty color," Ruth said.

"Thank you. It's for a blanket." Rose hadn't mentioned the baby yet. She knew it had to be done, but she dreaded telling her mother. Things were going well—certainly better than she expected, and she feared telling her would ruin that. It would unleash the criticism Ruth was holding back.

"She made me socks," Jack said, sensing Rose's hesitation. "Best pair I've ever had."

"Jack gives out praise too easily," Rose said.

"They are," he said. His eyes met hers, and again Ruth felt she shouldn't be there. Their loves was so obvious. Being near it made her uncomfortable. She didn't like seeing it, even as she wanted to see Rose happy. And Sylvia. Ruth could only stare in wonder at this child, with her friendliness and confidence, her red hair and blue eyes that matched Jack's. She'd known this would happen that day on the ship. She knew it the moment she saw him. If something wasn't done, he would carry Rose off, and now he had, and there was no way to get her back.

…..

Rose sank onto the bed. Jack closed the door. "You alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine." She undressed quickly. Sleep would be impossible but so was staying still. Jack climbed into bed next to her. "It didn't go so badly, did it?" he said, putting his arm around her. "I thought it was pretty good."

Rose moved closer to him. "It went better than I ever thought it would. I can't believe she's actually here. I can't believe she was so patient with Sylvia. Or that she was so civil to you."

"She's had a lot of time to think about things," he said. "She lost you, forever, for all she knew, and now you're back. She doesn't want to lose you again. She doesn't want to lose Sylvia. So, she's trying. I understand that. I'd do anything to keep you two."

"I have to tell her about the baby soon."

"Want me to help?" he asked.

"No, I need to talk to her alone," she said. "There's a lot of things we need to discuss. I don't know how to tell her we were apart. She still doesn't want us together. When she find out she'll take our marriage even less seriously."

"Or maybe she'll finally respect us," he said. "She'll see we were meant to be together, in spite of everything. She'll see how much we love each other."

"Maybe." Rose brushed her fingers through his hair. His arm felt solid around her. His body was warm against hers. He kissed her, slowly at first; gradually, it built in intensity. She put her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, both arms around her now. She rolled him into his back. He sighed as she moved her lips down his neck. His hands slipped up her back and into her hair. She kissed his chest, pausing to look up into his eyes. "Rose," he whispered.

Rose smiled slightly and kept going, her hands exploring. Jack sucked in his breath. "Rose." It was louder this time. "You don't hafta do that." A low groan finished the sentence. Her gaze met his again. "I know," she said. "I want to, Jack."

…..

Jack pulled her closer, curling his leg over her hip. "We're not done here," he said. He kissed the space between her breasts, breathing in her scent. "Not done at all," he murmured between kisses. His hands moved over her. Rose's breathing quickened. "Jack." He shifted so he was looking down at her. His hair fell around his face. She reached up to touch it, and he kissed her hand.

Jack kissed her until she gasped for breath. Rose's eyes were cloudy with desire. She reached for him as he moved away. "Jack," she said. "Don't do."

Gently, he nipped her thigh. "I'm not, miss. I told you, we're not done yet."

….

They slept soundly, arms around each other. Rose's head rested on Jack's shoulder. Ruth opened their door by mistake. She was looking for the bathroom. Or so she told herself. Part of her wanted to see them like this. It only confirmed what she already knew, but she needed to see it nonetheless. Rose shifted in her sleep. A frightened sound slipped from her throat. Jack's grip tightened. He nuzzled her hair. Rose breathed evenly, her distress gone.

…..

Jack was buttoning his shirt when Rose encircled him with her arms. "Hey," he said, grinning. He put his hands over hers. She kissed his neck. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For being you," she said. "For handling my mother so well. For last night." She kissed his jaw.

"You started that," he reminded her. He freed an arm and looped it around her. "I'm glad you did."

"That was the impression I got."

"Rose, I haven't been ignoring you. I want you. I just—I wasn't sure it was alright."

"Why didn't you ask?" she said.

"I didn't wanna sound like I was pushing you," he said. His hand found her belly. It hadn't grown any more, but he believed he could feel a change. "I know I'm supposed to be this experienced man of the world, but this is something I don't really know much about."

"Jack, you have to ask me," Rose said. "And you have to tell me how you feel. Does this scare you? Me being like this?"

"No. No, I'm, glad you are," he said. "I want this. We can do it. I'm afraid of hurting you, both of you."

"But Jack, you wouldn't do that."

"Bot intentionally. Never," Jack said.

"I'm not going to be pretty for much longer," Rose said. "But I still want you. It won't hurt anything."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'd be able to tell if it wasn't okay."

Jack kissed her softly. "I love you, and you'll always be beautiful."

She pressed her face into his neck, smiling. "I love you."

"C'mon," he said. "I'll make Swedish pancakes for breakfast."

…..

Lunch was barely over, and Rose's eyes would hardly stay open. She'd been hungry, and the food had been so good, but now her stomach lurched. She didn't know whether she needed a nap or to be sick. She breathed slowly, trying to will her stomach back under control. "Why don't you gather the books that need to go back to the library," she suggested to Sylvia. "We'll go get new ones later this afternoon."

Ruth offered to help with the dishes, but they waved her away. "You can see how Sylvia's doing, if you'd like," Rose said. Sylvia didn't need help, but she thought they should have a chance to spend time alone. Jack watched her closely. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Rose said cheerfully.

"Are you sure? You don't look fine."

"I feel a little nauseated, but it's nothing Jack, really," Rose insisted. "And I'm a little tired, but I can handle that."

"Why don't you go lie down?"

"No, I have too many things to do," she replied. "I can't just go lie down in the middle of the day with my mother here."

"Why not?" Jack said. "She'll understand. I can take Sylvia to the library. I was gonna go on a walk with her anyway. Your mother can come too."

"Jack, I'm fine." Her stomach rolled as she said it. The color drained from her cheeks. She touched her belly, as if that would soothe it.

"You're not fine," he said. "Go lie down, Rose. If you won't do it for you, do it for me. Please."

"Fine." She sighed. "But only for an hour or so."

Jack kissed her forehead. "For as long as you need to."

He was finishing up the dishes when Ruth and Sylvia returned. "The books are ready," Sylvia said. She looked around. "Where's Mama?"

"She went to rest for a little bit," Jack said. "I'm gonna take you. We can do our walk on the way."

Sylvia's eyes filled with concern. "Is she okay?"

Jack noticed a similar look in Ruth's eyes. "She's fine," he said, looking from one to the other. "She just needed to rest." Ruth didn't look convinced. Sylvia accepted the explanation only because it came from him. "You can come along, if you want," he added to Ruth.

"You should come," Sylvia said. "You've never been on an art walk, have you?"

"No," Ruth said. She hesitated. Sylvia looked up at her, and saying no seemed impossible. "I'll come along."

Jack smiled. "Good."


	14. Chapter 14

"Look!" Sylvia cried. She ran ahead, tugging on Jack's hand.

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"See, in the window?"

They stopped in front of a florist's display. Vases overflowed with flowers; the colors, some artificial, danced before their eyes. Ruth thought it was nice, but she didn't see what all the fuss was about. Jack and Sylvia, on the other hand, appeared content to remain there forever. "That's the color I meant," Sylvia said, pointing to a bright purple-red pom daisy.

"Fuschia," Jack said.

"Fuschia," Sylvia repeated slowly. "That's my favorite color now."

"Good choice," he said.

"You should paint flowers like that."

"You think I could?" he said.

Sylvia nodded. "A whole wall of them. We have the space," she added. "Mama would like it."

Jack chuckled. "Maybe." He glanced at Ruth. "This is what we do," he explained. "C'mon, Syl, let's get going."

"Can we stop on the way back?"

"Yes," he promised.

"I didn't realize that's what she meant by an art walk," Ruth said. "They were just flowers." Sylvia gave her a curious look but didn't say anything.

"Not if you look at them right," Jack said mildly. "Nothing's _just_ anything, if you look at it right."

Ruth shifted uncomfortably. "Is this something you do often?"

"All the time," Sylvia answered.

"Really?" Ruth turned her gaze on Jack. "That's a lot of time you spend with her."

From her tone Jack couldn't tell if that was good or bad. He was trying to make a good impression, but reading her was impossible. He didn't feel scorn and hatred radiating from her like last time, so he figured he wasn't doing too badly.

"You don't miss it, the wandering life?" Ruth asked.

"Sylvia, why don't you go on ahead?" Jack suggested. "Start looking through the books. We'll be there in a minute."

"Okay." Sylvia ran down the street and up the stairs to the library. Her curls flew behind her.

"No, I don't," Jack said. "To answer your question. I'd much rather have this."

"Would you really?"

"Yes. I can't be that guy and have them too. Not the same way," he said. "I knew that when I married Rose. You think she didn't ask the same thing?"

"The truth is," Ruth said reluctantly. "I don't think you'll leave."

"Why ask me then? Do you want me to?"

She shook her head. "I don't want that. I see how happy the three of you are. They love you."

"I love them," Jack said.

"It makes me….uncomfortable." She spoke slowly, her expression pained.

"Why?"

"You have this little world with them," she replied. "I can't be part of it. I don't know if I want to be part of it."

"Rose and Sylvia want you to be, if that changes anything," Jack offered. "I know it's been kind of awkward—" Ruth made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "But they really want you here. Rose spent so much time trying to make everything perfect. Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but she's afraid of what you'll say."

"Why?" she said incredulously. "She's done what she wanted. She has the life she wanted. There's nothing I can do about it. What does my opinion matter? She didn't listen to me six years ago; she won't listen now."

"Look, I know you only wanted what's best for her," Jack said. "I don't think you knew everything that was going on. Even if you did, you probably thought it wasn't that bad. I get it."

"What are you talking about?" Ruth demanded. "Nothing was amiss until she met you. She wasn't thrilled about the marriage, but she would have learned to accept it. In time, she would have seen what was best. I learned to accept marrying her father."

Jack saw Ruth in a new light at that moment. She wasn't just Rose's mother; she was a woman in her own right, with a past, a Cal of her own. But unlike Rose, she didn't escape. She never thought escape was possible. Was there a Jack somewhere, buried in her memories? He wanted to ask but knew he shouldn't.

"I don't know much about him," Jack said. "She doesn't talk about him."

"They weren't close."

"Doesn't surprise me," he said. "Was he…." For some reason, he couldn't say Cal's name. Neither of them could. Ruth nodded. "A bit like, you could say."

"He wasn't very nice to her," Jack said quietly. "You know that, right?"

"A drowning person grabs the first thing she can and doesn't ask questions," Ruth said. "I had to learn that when I was young."

They were silent for a moment. "We should get inside and find Sylvia," Jack said. Sadness washed over him. "And uh, talk to Rose. Tell _her_ about this. She needs to know."

"She doesn't want to know."

"Trust me. She does," he said. "She thinks she doesn't have a mother anymore, but she's wrong. _I_ don't have a mother anymore. I know what that feels like. It's terrible. I don't want her feeling that way, not if you're willing to try."

"I'll try," Ruth said.

…..

As they passed the flower shop on the way home Jack said, "Why don't we get a bunch for your mother?"

"Really?" Sylvia said eagerly.

"Yeah, the ones right there," he said. "The fuschia daisies you like. I need something to pain from, after all."

"You're really going to paint them?"

"Maybe not on the wall," he replied. "But I'm gonna paint them. You're right. They deserve it."

They left with three bouquets, one for Rose, one for Sylvia, and one for Jack to paint. Sylvia offered one to Ruth, but she refused. "I couldn't," she said.

They were nearly home when Ruth said, "That was a generous thing to do."

"Buy flowers? I do that all the time," Jack said.

"It shows you think of them,"

"I figured it wouldn't be enough to impress you," he said. "I can give her a lot, but it doesn't compare…." He looked ahead to Sylvia, who didn't seem to hear them. "Let's not talk about this now."

"She doesn't know anything?" Ruth said.

"Not really. She's not old enough. She shouldn't have to try and understand how we met. Not yet."

"I won't tell her," she promised.

"Thanks."

…..

Rose was delighted with the flowers. "What made you get them?" she asked, inhaling their scent.

"Sylvia wanted me to paint them," Jack answered. "This is her new favorite color."

"Oh, I see. And for that you needed three bouquets?"

He shrugged. "Why not? You needed one."

"I didn't. Thank you, Jack." Rose kissed him. She bent down and kissed Sylvia. "And thank you, Syvvy, darling." Sylvia grinned.

"Why don't we go start dinner?" Jack suggested. "Wanna help?" he added to Sylvia.

She nodded. "Sure."

This left Rose alone with her mother. They looked at each other. "Won't you sit down?" Rose said.

"Thank you."

They say on opposite ends of the couch. Rose realized her feet were bare. Ruth would notice; she would think it was slovenly to go around with bare feet. Her hair wasn't brushed. She hadn't touched it since before her nap. Ruth, of course, looked immaculate. "Did you enjoy the walk?" Rose asked.

"Yes, I did," Ruth replied. "It was…interesting."

"It isn't something I would've thought to do. I'm glad Jack suggested it. It's good for Sylvia. It helps her see things more clearly, to really notice the world."

"She's a remarkable child."

Rose smiled. "Thank you. I've done my best with her. I worry….I want her to be happy."

"She's certainly happy. Her confidence is astounding," Ruth said.

"I know. I don't know where it comes from. Jack, I suppose," Rose said. "I see a lot of him in her."

"There's a great deal of you as well."

"Do you really think so?"

"Don't you see it?" Ruth said. "She's exactly like you were at that age, always chattering, never meeting a stranger, just absolutely bold and unceasingly cheerful."

"I don't remember being that way," Rose said thoughtfully.

"I remember you that way," her mother said. "It drove me mad trying to make you behave. Your nurse wouldn't. Your governess couldn't. So it was left to me."

"Why?" Rose asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why couldn't I stay that way?" Rose said. "I was happy. What was so wrong with me I had to change completely?"

"Rose, you know what the world is like. I imagine you know even better now, living the way you have," Ruth said patiently. "You weren't safe the way you were. Things are different for women."

"I know they are. I also know it doesn't matter how I behave; things are never safe. As a woman I—there will always be someone who doesn't take me seriously or who tries to take advantage, someone telling me what I ought to do," Rose said. "Believe me, I know there are rules. But we don't have to make it any harder on ourselves. And we don't have to let things stay that way."

"I was trying to make it easier for you. You thought I didn't care, but that's not true," Ruth said. "It wasn't just about the money. It was about keeping you safe."

"I wasn't safe with him," Rose said. "You had to know that."

"I had some idea of the….tension between you two. It wasn't any worse than what I dealt with when I married your father."

Rose's eyes widened in surprise. "What you dealt with? What do you mean?"

Ruth looked at her. Their eyes were the same color. Rose had forgotten. "Your father was difficult, in his own way," Ruth explained. "I learned how to live with it."

"Why did you marry him?"

"He was the most suitable prospect," Ruth answered. "Everyone approved of our marriage. It was the best thing."

"For whom? The family or for you?"

"Everyone," Ruth said. "It wasn't just about his money. His family and background were right. He was impeccably mannered; he charmed my parents. They knew all of the same people."

"But what about _you_?" Rose pressed. "How did you feel about it?"

Ruth looked pained. "Does it matter? All of that is over and done with. He's dead, after all. Our marriage did most of what it was supposed to do."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"It isn't something one talks about," Ruth said.

"I love Jack. I married him because I love him," Rose said. "I have a child with him. I'm having more children with him. If I didn't-" She paused. "I could survive if he weren't here, or if I hadn't met him, but it wouldn't be the same. I know what I'm capable of. I know what I can do when I have to, but I don't know if I could give up _everything_ to fit into someone else's ideal world."

"I didn't give up everything," Ruth argued. "I gained a great deal by marrying your father. And I got you. That's important as well."

"But if you'd had me with a different man? A man you loved and were happy with? What then?" Rose asked.

"What then indeed?" Ruth said. "I wasn't exactly miserable. I knew the kind of life I was going into, Rose. I didn't expect things from him that he wasn't able or willing to give. He didn't love me. I accepted that. I didn't love him either. I learned how to keep him happy, and we avoided each other most of the time. We lived our own lives. Aside from his terrible choices during the last few years, he was as fine a husband as I could have hoped to fine," she concluded. "It could have been worse."

"But you didn't love him," Rose said.

"That doesn't matter."

Rose let out a breath slowly. "Did you ever love anyone?"

Something flickered in Ruth's eyes. "That doesn't matter either," she said. "It's over. I made the best choice."  
….

Rose shivered against him. Jack reached down and pulled the blanket over her. He held her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "Thank you for coming with me, Rose." He closed his eyes. Her head lay on his shoulder instead of on the pillow. She almost never lay on the pillow anymore. Jack didn't mind. He was glad to hold her.  
…

Rose didn't know how to approach her mother now. She felt so close to her after their talk and yet still so far away. The gulf between them had been widened even as it came together. It was strange thinking of her as a person, not just as her mother. All her life she had been there, iron-willed, correcting, disapproving, rarely showing affection; she didn't have secrets or vulnerabilities.

But that wasn't true. That was the way Ruth presented herself to the world, but she was more than that perfect image, that porcelain hostess and society wife. Rose wanted to ask more questions, but she knew it would be pointless. Ruth wouldn't answer.

Rose looked over to where she sat with Sylvia. Maps were spread out on the table. She couldn't believe her mother was sitting on the floor. How did Sylvia talk her into it? Sylvia chattered happily while Ruth listened, looking at turns overwhelmed and happy herself. _Why wasn't she like that with me?_ The thought came without warning. Watching them together was difficult, painful even, at times. It was like watching the mother she didn't have but always wanted.

Rose stole out of the room silently. She waited until the bedroom door was closed before she let herself cry. She had no idea how like her mother she was in that moment.

Rose sank to the floor as the sobs tore out of her. She covered her face, trying to mask the sound. She didn't know how longer she'd been there when Jack put his arms around her. "Sssh," he said, pulling her onto his lap. "It's alright, Rose." She buried her face in his shirt, sobbing freely now. He rubbed her back. "What happened?" he asked. "I was only gone a couple hours. Did you fight with your mother?"

"No." Rose's voice was thick with tears. "I saw her—with-with Sylvia. Jack, I can't believe how good she is with her. She was never like that with me," she said. "Everything had to be perfect. I—I had to be perfect, every moment. It isn't fair." Rose knew how ridiculous it sounded. She was a grown woman with two—well, nearly two—children of her own. This shouldn't bother her so much, and yet it did. She hated herself for caring. "I'm being childish," she said. "I know I am."

Jack wiped her tears away with his thumb. "You're allowed to be upset, Rose. You don't have to hide it."

"I don't want them to see me like this.":

"You don't have to hide it from _me_ ," he said.

"Apparently, I can't. You found me."

"Do you want to be alone?" Jack asked.

"No, I'd rather you be here. Crying by myself is—" Rose shook her head. "Well, I've done that enough already."

Jack tilted her head up and kissed her. "You're not alone," he said. "You don't have to ever do that again."

"Old habits are hard to break."

…..

"Mother?" Rose stood in the doorway. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course." Ruth set down the hairbrush. "I was just getting ready for dinner. I know you don't dress, but I'm afraid it's a habit."

Rose smiled wryly. "I know about those. Can we walk?"

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you ask that?" Rose said.

"You have that look you always get when something bothers you."

"I never thought you noticed," Rose said.

"I noticed everything about you, Rose."

"Mother, I wanted to talk about our conversation yesterday. There are questions I want to ask, things I need to know, and I know you'd rather not tell me. It's hard for me to accept. I'm trying. You have the right not to share the details of your life, just as I have that right," Rose said. "There are things you don't know. Things I'm not ready to tell you."

"Is it something bad?" Ruth said. "Did something happen to you?" Her eyes filled with concern. "I worried about you, Rose, more than you can know."

Rose thought she heard Sylvia in the other room. "I think I can understand," she said.

"I almost forgot. You have a daughter now."

"Actually," Rose said. "I may have another soon."

"You don't mean you're—"

Rose nodded, smiling. "Yes. We're having another baby."

"You don't look—I had no idea," Ruth said. She looked closely at Rose. "You don't wear those abominable modern fashions though."

"Sometimes I do."

"And you haven't cut off your lovely hair," Ruth added.

Rose touched her curls. "I've thought about it, a few times. Jack like my hair this way. I do too. It's part of who I am. Sylvia enjoys the way we look alike." She regarded her mother for a moment. "She looks like you as well."

"Do you really think so/" Ruth said, hope in her voice.

"I really think so. I'm glad you're spending time with her," Rose said. "She doesn't have a lot of family. There's no-one on Jack's side. It's important she know you. That's all I wanted to say. I'll let you get back to dressing."

"Rose?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for the way things turned out," Ruth said. "I was only trying to keep you safe. It was the only thing I knew to do."

"I know," Rose said. "I'm sorry too. It worked out in the end, though."

….

She was there when he arrived. Jack sighed and kept walking, as if he didn't see her. The gallery was nearly empty. His task would only take a few minutes; he'd been hoping to spend a little time looking at the paintings. That wasn't an option anymore.

"Jack?" Grace said, loudly, so he couldn't ignore her.

He turned. "Yeah?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Working," he said. "Sorry, but I gotta—"

"You're throwing the party for Amy, aren't you?" she said. "On Friday."

"I am," he replied tersely. "I'm getting her work shown."

"Isn't it marvelous? I love it."

Jack knew she was being sincere. Whatever her faults, Grace genuinely appreciated art. It was what had brought them together. "I love it too," he said. "She almost didn't let me show it. I had to take my wife along to talk her into it."

Grace's smile froze. "Really? She must be quite a girl."

"I have to go. Really."

"I was just thinking what a shame it is she and I haven't had a chance to talk," Grace said.

"There's no reason for that," Jack said.

"Of course there is," she said. "We have a lot in common. There's _you_ , for instance. I bet I could tell her things."

"She knows everything."

"Really?" Grace smirked. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

"Grace, I'm asking you to leave her alone."

"Well, I've already gotten my invitation to the party," she replied with a shrug. "Perhaps I'll see her there."

His voice was hard. "Grace—"

"Jack, you know you won't do anything to me," she said. "You aren't that kind of man. Don't pretend."

"I mean it. Don't bother her."

Blowing him a kiss, she sailed from the room.


	15. Chapter 15

"Rose." Jack reached for her, his eyes till closed. His arm curled around her, and he pressed her face into her neck. She moved closer, sighing. Her nightgown was short, the silky fabric slipped through his fingers. His hand found her leg. Slowly, he moved it up, caressing her. He kissed her neck. "Rose."

"I know what you're trying to do," she murmured.

"What's that?" He kissed her cheek. His fingertips stroked her belly. She titled her head, catching his lips. "If I have to wake up early," she said.

"Yeah?"

She put an arm around him. "There are worse ways."

His hands moved over her, pulling the nightgown up. Their kisses were soft, but there was an urgency in them. Rose felt him pressing against her. His body's response to her was always surprising. She slipped a hand between them and grinned when he gasped. "How much time do we have?" she asked.

"Plenty," Jack assured her. He pulled the gown over her head and tossed it aside. His lips move down her throat. She sighed, pulling him closer with her knees. "Jack." She had missed this. All those years she missed this, his hands exploring, finding the ways she liked to be touched. Needed to be touched. She missed wanting him as much as he wanted her. It was hard to tell who was giving more pleasure to whom.

….

Jack wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. "Jack, don't," Rose laughed. Her dress was unbuttoned. He still wore nothing.

"I love you," he said. He kissed her. "That's all."

"That's _all_?"

He grinned. "Do you want something else?"

"No," Rose kissed his fingers. She couldn't take her eyes away from his. "I have to make breakfast," she said half-heartedly.

"I have to go to the gallery for a while. You should come by later," he suggested.

"With my mother?"

"Why not? I'd like her to see it," he said. As he spoke, he remembered Grace but dismissed the thought. She wouldn't be there again. Her interest was in the party. Somehow, he'd have to keep her out of it.

"Alright," Rose said. "We'll come this afternoon after I pick up Sylvia."

Jack kissed her again. "Great."

….

Ruth tried to help, but she mostly felt like she was in the way. She went along when rose walked Sylvia to school. She couldn't believe they weren't sending her to a nicer, private school, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Once they were back home Rose busied herself in the kitchen. Ruth's offers of help were turned down. "Why don't you just keep me company?" Rose said. She took down a tin of tea. "I'll make a pot of tea, and we can talk when I'm finished."

"Alright," Ruth agreed reluctantly. She watched as Rose washed and put away the dishes, swept, wiped down every surface until it gleamed, and began setting out ingredients for dinner.

"Jack probably won't be finished until after lunch," she explained. "Sylvia has hers at school. She likes eating with the other children. So, it will be just us. Is there something you'd like?" She brought the full teapot over to the table and carefully set it down. 

"Whatever you normally have will be fine," Ruth answered. "I don't want you going to any trouble."

"It's no trouble," Rose assured her. "Don't think I've forgotten how particular your tastes are." She laughed good-naturedly. "I'm afraid we don't have any hearts of palm."

"Well, you never liked them."

"No, I didn't," Rose agreed.

"I haven't eaten that way in quite a while."

"How have you been doing?" Rose asked. "Really?" It was the first time she'd brought it up. They had both been avoiding the subject. Rose could tell from her clothes Ruth was surviving well, but then again, perhaps she had brought only her best things to keep up appearances. Rose wouldn't have been surprised by that.

"I'm fine," Ruth said. "It was a difficult adjustment, but I'm doing well now. I had some money left after the sale of the house, and I was able to buy a, well, a modest place outside the city. Even with everything that happened, I couldn't bring myself to go too far from home."

"I'd like to see it," Rose said.

"It isn't much. There's nothing to see."

"I doubt that," Rose said. "You have a good eye for houses. I'm sure it's lovely."

"There's a nice garden in the back," Ruth conceded. "A rose trellis goes up the wall."

"I thought you didn't like those."

"It reminds me of you," Ruth said.

There were so many things Rose wanted to say, and yet, what came out was, "We need cups. How stupid of me. I'll get them."

…..

"Jack, there's someone here for you."

He looked up from the sketches on his desk. "Thanks. Who is it?"

"Alan."

He smiled. "Really? Send him in." He stood up as Alan came in.

"It's been a while," Alan said amiably. He tensed slightly as Jack came around the desk and pulled him into a one-armed hug. This kind of casual contact would be considered dangerous by his brother, or anyone who knew about him. But Jack knew, and it didn't seem to bother him. It never had. Alan was grateful for that, even as he was puzzled by it.

"Too long," Jack said. "I didn't mean to drop off the planet. There's been a lot going on. Sit down, and I'll tell you about it."

"You're married to your dream girl and happy," Alan said. "What else is there to say?"

"We're having another baby."

"Really? So soon?"

"It's not that soon," Jack said. "Sylvia's six."

"But you've only been married, what seven months?"

"Nearly eight," Jack replied. "With our history, we can't afford to waste more time."

"You're both still young," Alan pointed out.

"I want us to be young with our kids, you know? And Rose wanted another one."

"I'm happy for you then. I came to talk about the party, actually," Alan said.

"You're still coming, right?" Jack said. "With the guest list they've put together I need all the friends there I can get."

"That's what I wanted to offer. Some critics I know are in town, and—"

"Invite them."

"Are you sure?" Alan asked.

Jack nodded. "Yes, absolutely. I'm sure if you think they're good, they probably are."

Alan smiled. "Great. I'll tell them tonight."

"I have to try and figure out how to disinvite someone."

"Who?" Alan said curiously. "I didn't know you had enemies, Jack, or should I say, everyone's friend Jack."

"Very funny. You remember the girl I told you about? Jack said. "Grace? We traveled together in Europe for a while."

"I remember. What's she doing here?"

"I don't know," Jack answered. "Aside from trying to make my life miserable. She's angry about the way we ended, and I don't blame her. She's angry about me getting married. I wasn't good to her, not as good as I coulda been."

"I know you didn't treat her badly," Alan said.

"In some ways I did. She wasn't the woman I wanted. I didn't hide that well enough," Jack said wryly. "Maybe I wanted her to know, or maybe I did just wanna be alone and miserable."

"Or maybe you're being too hard on yourself."

"I appreciate your good opinion of me," Jack said. "But trust me, I'm not. There's nothing right about making love to one woman and trying to imagine she's another."

"You wanted her to be Rose," Alan said.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Not at first, but after a while, being with her just made me miss Rose even more. Now I wonder if I didn't know she was out there all along. Like, I was keeping myself from loving Grace or anyone else because I knew I'd end up with her. I wanted to be unattached for her."

"That's a nice, romantic thought, but I doubt it's the whole truth. If you'd known she was alive, you would've been with her," Alan said. "You were just afraid of letting go."

"Pathetic, huh?"

Alan shrugged. "Love's hard to understand."

"You should come to dinner before the party," Jack suggested. "We're having some people over."

"I'd like that."

….

Rose, Ruth, and Sylvia were coming through the front door as Jack walked Alan back into the lobby. Sylvia ran toward Jack. "Daddy!" He scooped her up in a hug.

"Well, hello to you too, Syl," Jack said with a grin. "You remember Alan." She nodded.

Rose held out her hand. "Hello, Alan. I'd like you to meet my mother, Ruth Dewitt-Bukator."

"How do you do?" he said politely.

"Alan's an old friend of mine," Jack explained. "From my wandering days."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ruth said.

"Did Jack invite you to dinner Friday?" rose asked.

"Yes, he did," Alan said.

"I trust you'll be there."

"I'll be there," Alan said. "I may bring someone."

"Oh, that would be great," Rose said. "Bring whomever you like."

"I won't abuse your hospitality," Alan said. "I'm afraid I have to be going. It was good to see you again, rose." He and Ruth exchanged nods. "And it was good to meet you." When he was gone Jack said, 'Well, should I show you around?" He set Sylvia down and took her hand.

"In a moment," Rose said, leaning up to kiss him. "Now you can."

He put his other hand in hers. "This way."

"This is an impressive place," Ruth said.

"You think so?" Jack said. "It's kind of a base, really. It's one of the galleries where we do exhibitions."

"There are more?" Ruth said.

He nodded. "Two more. This is the main one. We're having the party here Friday."

"Rose mentioned it. I understand it's a rather important occasion for you."

"Not for me," Jack said. "For Amy, the artist. It's about her. I just helped put it together."

"Jack's too modest, as always," Rose said.

"Realistic," he said good-naturedly.

"Are any of these yours?" Ruth asked.

"No," he said. "I don't show my work to the public."

"See?" Rose said. "Too modest. I keep telling him he should arrange something for himself."

"I don't need that," Jack said. He looked down at Sylvia, who was gazing raptly at one of Amy's mermaid paintings. "Like it?" he asked.

She nodded. "Did that lady who came to dinner paint it?"

"She did," Jack said. "You wanna see some of the others?"

"Can we?"

….

They were walking home when Ruth said, "I must say, I'm impressed."

Rose smiled and squeezed Jack's hand. "He's something, isn't he?"

"Not only him," Ruth said.

"And Rose thinks _I'm_ too modest," Jack said.

Their hands felt so small in his. Not for the first time he felt the weight of his commitment to them, the responsibility of loving them. Jack wanted to pull Rose and Sylvia into his arms, keep them close and shelter them from the world. He couldn't, not completely; it was something he hated to admit. He glanced over at Ruth, who caught his eye, and he wondered if she ever felt that way.

….

"Is that what you're wearing?" Ruth asked.

Rose looked down at her dress. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's—" Ruth tried to keep the critical tone out of her voice. "Do you really think it's appropriate for this sort of affair?'

"Most of the people coming tonight are our friends," Rose said. "I'm not worried about impressing them. They've seen me in dresses like this one."

"But this is also for Jack's career," Ruth said. "You should look your best."

Rose fought the urge to argue. She'd wanted her mother back, and unsolicited advice was part of having her back. "I suppose you're right," she said. "What would you suggest?"

"Let's see what you have." Ruth disappeared into the closet and returned a moment later triumphantly carrying Rose's wedding dress. "Why aren't you wearing this?"

"I can't wear that," Rose said.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"It's a special dress." Rose tried to think of an explanation that didn't involve telling her mother everything. She knew she had to eventually, but things were going too well to disrupt them now.

"This is a special occasion," Ruth argued.

"Wear it, Mama," Sylvia encouraged. They both turned; they'd forgotten she was watching from the bed. "You were so pretty in it," she added.

"I'm sure you are," Ruth agreed.

"No, I couldn't," Rose protested.

"Why won't we ask Jack?" Ruth suggested. "I'm sure he'll agree."

"Daddy loves that dress," Sylvia said.

"Jack has more important things on his mind tonight," rose said. She looked from her mother to her daughter. There was a pain behind her eyes, and her stomach had been unsettled all day. Part of her just wanted to go to bed, but she couldn't make Jack go through this night alone. It wouldn't be fair, even though he would understand. "Fine. I'll wear it," she said.

….

Jack's breath caught in his throat when he saw Rose. Her hair was down but pulled back, away from her face. "They made me wear this," she explained. "Do you think it's too—"

"It's perfect," he said. He reached for her hands. "I never thought I'd see you in that dress again."

"I didn't intend to wear it again. Do you really think it looks alright? It isn't too tight?" Rose passed a hand over her middle.

"I can tell," he said, answering the question she wasn't asking. "But it's not that noticeable."

"I'm afraid people will stare. Or talk," she said.

"Why would they? It's not any of their business."

Rose gave him a look. "Jack, you know how people can be. Most people think a woman in my condition shouldn't be seen in public."

"I don't think so. Do you?"

"No," she said. "Why should I hide?"

"What matters is you feel like going tonight. Do you feel up to it, Rose?"

"I'm fine, Jack."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

Rose nodded. "I may leave early, if that's alright."

"Of course." He kissed her. "Tell me when you want to go, and I'll come home with you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to, Rose. Can you imagine what your mother would say if she knew you were out walking alone at night?" he added with a grin. "She'd kill me."

"She would make you wish she had," Rose said.

Jack laughed. "I don't blame her."

"It's going well, isn't it? Better than I expected?"

"You're both trying really hard. I'm glad it's working out. Sylvia already loves her," he said.

"I worried about that the most," she said. "I was so sure my mother would be the same with her as she was with me. It's so strange seeing her be so warm and open."

"Maybe she's trying to make up for missing out on when you were a little girl," Jack said. "And who wouldn't love Sylvia?" Sadness flickered in his eyes, and Rose knew he was thinking of his own parents.

She kissed his hand and placed it on her belly. "You have a family again, Jack," she said. "You're not alone anymore."

"I know." Jack pulled her closer, holding her as tightly as he dared.

…..

The guests were due to arrive any minute. Everything was ready. Ruth had given out dozens of what she considered helpful suggestions, all of which Rose patiently accepted. "Mother, are you sure you don't want to come to the party?" Rose asked. "Sylvia can come along for a while, and I can bring her home."

"A child her age has no business in a place like that or being up that late," Ruth replied. "Rose, I'm surprised at you. And walking at that time of night? By yourself? I can't believe Jack would allow it."

"It was just an offer," Rose said.

"I am quite happy to stay here with her. I saw the gallery already, and this dinner will give me a chance to meet your friends. If you still want me to meet them."

"Of course I do," Rose said. Secretly, she wondered if it was a good idea. She knew her mother didn't entirely approve of their lifestyle. The fact that Jack made a good living, and the general stability of their lives was what kept her from voicing her disapproval. How could she criticize a nice, spacious apartment? A well-stocked kitchen? New clothes?

Just then the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Rose said. She found Marie and Amy waiting. "Did you come together?"

"Yes," Marie said.

"We thought we might as well," Amy said.

The closeness between them was even more pronounced than before. Rose didn't have time to think about it. "Come in, please," she said. "You're the first to arrive."

"Of course we are," Amy said. "We left too early."

"Well, I told you." Marie said. "But—"

"It's fine. I'm glad you're here," Rose said. "Jack and Sylvia are in the living room. Along with my mother."

Marie raised an eyebrow. "Your mother?"

"Yes," Rose said, her anxiety increasing. "Marie, may I speak with you, please?"

"I'll be in the living room," Amy said.

"I didn't think you and your mother spoke anymore," Marie said.

"We didn't. Jack wrote to her without telling me. He thought we should try and make peace, and she should meet Sylvia. I didn't want to admit it, but I was glad when I read her letters. It hadn't been perfect, but we've talked a lot over the past few days," Rose explained. "We've been honest with one another in ways we never were before."

"I'm glad then."

"I haven't told her everything," Rose said. "I can't do that yet. I'm not sure what to say. Please, don't mention anything. I thought it would be best if we learned to get along first and for her to get to know Sylvia and to stop hating Jack so much."

"I understand," Marie said. But she wasn't sure Ruth would react any better if she were told that night or in five years. Still, she wanted Rose to be happy. Even now, she loved her more than she cared to admit.


	16. Chapter 16

Rose sat at one end of the table, Jack at the other. Amy and Marie were on one side, with Sylvia between them. Ruth, Alan, and David were on the other side. The table wasn't quite big enough for so many people, and they were a bit squeezed in. Ruth tried not to show her discomfort, but Rose sensed it. She hoped she hadn't made a mistake. So far, things were going well. The conversation was pleasant, and her mother seemed interested, but she feared that would change. It wouldn't take much, just a stray remark. Jack caught her eyes and smiled reassuringly.

"Are you an artist as well, Mr. Brooks?" Ruth asked.

"Oh no," Alan replied. "Just a devoted patron. I don't do much of anything, really. It's shameful."

"If you have the means to be a man of leisure, enjoy it," Ruth said. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

It was clear her opinion of him had improved. "I'll try and do that."

"Amy is an artist," Rose said. "We saw some of her paintings at the gallery, remember?"

"Yes, they were quite intriguing," Ruth said.

"I like them," Sylvia said, turning to Amy.

Amy smiled warmly. "Thank you, dear."

"It was very hard to get her to let me show them," Jack said. "I had to practically offer my soul in exchange for them."

"I wouldn't go that far," Amy said.

"Maybe not," Jack said. "But it wasn't easy to convince you. Without Rose, I don't think I coulda done it."

"You give me too much credit, Jack," Rose said.

"No, he's right," Amy said.

"What exactly did she do?" Ruth asked. "Rose, I didn't know you helped with his work."

"I don't, not really," Rose said. "I just go along sometimes when he's visiting artists."

"To answer your question, since Rose is too modest," Amy said. "She made me see I could trust him. I knew my work would be safe with Jack because of her."

"How did she do that?" Ruth asked.

"She understands my work, and she enjoys it," Amy explained. "Jack does too, but more importantly, he understands her. He respects her. You can tell a lot about a man from the way he treats women."

"Yes, you can," Rose agreed.

"Enough about me," Jack said. "I can't take this kind of praise."

"I, for one, am looking forward to seeing these paintings," David said. "Maybe I can find some place for them in next month's Review."

"That isn't necessary," Amy said.

"Nonsense," David said. "It's what they pay me for." He laughed. "Not well, but it's a job, and I don't always enjoy the work I write about."

"I've read some of your articles," Jack said. "I liked the one about Morisot."

"Did you? You mean you actually agreed with me?"

"Sure," Jack said. "I love her work. The way she captures her subjects, it's incredible."

"I liked it too," Alan said.

"You never said," David replied in a low voice. A look passed between them, and they turned away from each other. "What about you, Rose?" he said. "What do you think of her?"

"I like her work," Rose said. "I have to confess, I didn't know of her at first. I didn't know about Eva Gonzales at first, either. I was blinded by Monet and Degas."

"Weren't we all?" Amy said.

"Well, you're all wrong," Marie said. "No-one will ever surpass Picasso."

Jack shook his head. "I can't understand the hysteria around him."

"What do you think, Mrs. Dewitt-Bukator?" Alan asked. "Or is all this art talk boring you?"

"I wouldn't call it boring," Ruth said. "But I have to admit, I know little about art. I'm not as enthusiastic about it as my daughter and son-in-law."

Jack smiled. It was the first time she had ever called him that. "Maybe we can change your mind," he said.

...

Rose took Sylvia up to bed after dinner. "You'll be good for your grandmother?" she said.

"I'll be good," Sylvia said, yawning.

"We'll be home soon, darling," Rose said as she tucked her in.

"I know. I wish I could go."

"When you're older," Rose promised.

She found Ruth in the hallway. "Sylvia should be asleep before long," she said. "You won't have any trouble."

"I don't expect to," Ruth said. "She's a well-behaved child."

"I've tried to bring her up as best I can."

"It shows. You're a good mother, Rose," Ruth said.

Rose could only look at her. "Do you mean that?" she asked, finding her voice again.

"Of course I do." Ruth avoided her eyes.

"There's more. There's something else you're not telling me," Rose said. "What is it?"

"I'm trying not to criticize or disapprove, Rose. Truly, I am," Ruth said. "But some of the people you associate with, well, they're a bit peculiar."

"You don't like them."

"It isn't that," Ruth said. "Are you sure they're the right sort of people to have around Sylvia? Children are impressionable. What if she gets the wrong ideas? Particularly since you seem to approve of these people? You don't want her becoming a spinster, do you? Or an artist?" Her emphasis on the word made clear she considered all bohemian types to be equally unacceptable.

"What's wrong with being an artist?" Rose asked. "And isn't she a bit young for us to be worrying about her marriage? Her father's an artist. Should I keep her away from him too?" She tried to keep her voice light. An argument was the last thing she needed.

"Yes, I realize that," Ruth said. "And Jack is a good man. He obviously cares a great deal about you both and is living up to his responsibilities, but it's different for women. Your friends, those girls, what must people think of them?"

Rose forced herself to breathe slowly. This wasn't at all what she expected to hear from her mother. She knew it came from a loving place, but even so, it was hard to take. "Mother, I understand your concern, but those are our friends. They're people Jack works with and people we've known a long time. Some of them mean a great deal to us, more than you can know," she said. "Knowing them won't harm Sylvia or any other children we have. They'll grow up to made their own choices, just as Jack and I have."

Ruth looked into her eyes. "Now there's something you aren't telling me," she said. "I see it in your eyes, Rose. Something's troubling you."

"I'm fine, Mother. Really. Thank you for being concerned, but please, respect the way Jack and I choose to live and raise our children," Rose said. "I'm sorry if you don't approve, and I'm sorry for leaving so soon, but I have to go, or we'll be late."

Ruth watched her go and wondered what the secret was.

...

The gallery was awash with people. Music played softly, thanks to the quartet in a far corner. Nearly all of Amy's paintings were on display. A low hum of conversation filled the air. "I think it's a success," Rose said cheerfully.

"We'll see," Jack said.

She put a hand under his chin. "You can be happy, Jack. Proud even. It isn't your art, but you convinced Amy to show it, and you brought all these people here to see it," she said. "You'll make her name."

"You make me sound so important," he said.

"Don't you think you are?"

"The artists matter," he said. "I want to make sure people get to see the paintings. They shouldn't be put away in closets or forgotten about. People need art, and not just the same people we already know."

"I agree," she said. "That's why I'm so glad you're helping bring it to them. There aren't enough people like you, Jack."

He touched her hand and was about to reply when Alan called for them. "We better see what he wants," Jack said.

"I'll meet you over there. I need some water first."

"You alright?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine. Just thirsty," she said. "Nothing to worry about, Jack."

"I don't mean to smother you, Rose."

"I know you don't," she said. "You love us. Still, there's nothing to worry about."

But there was something to worry about. Grace was waiting at the refreshment table. Casually, she sipped a drink and kept her gaze away from Jack. She pretended not to notice Rose at first. "I'll have another, please," she said to the server. She turned to Rose, as if surprised by her presence. "Hello again," she said pleasantly. "Rose, isn't it? Jack's wife."

"Yes," Rose said.

"I believe we met already, a few months ago. It was here, actually," Graze said. "And then again, when your daughter was with you."

Grace's tone may have been friendly, but her eyes betrayed her. "I'm sorry," Rose lied. "I'm afraid I don't remember you." It felt silly, like the sort of power move her mother would encourage, but Rose knew this woman couldn't be trusted. It wasn't only her past with Jack-a past Rose managed not to think about most of the time-it was something about her. She wanted something, and Rose couldn't tell what. Jack, most likely.

Grace's expression flickered. "Oh, well, don't I feel ridiculous," she laughed. "I'm Grace. I've worked with Jack. We did a lot together in Italy. It was a rather productive partnership." Her tone was heavy with suggestion.

"Really?" Rose said. "He's never mentioned you."

"Perhaps he doesn't want you upset you." Grace glanced down at the just visible swell of Rose's middle. "Though I see you and he are having no trouble being productive together. Congratulations."

Rose managed a smile. "Thank you. I can't see any reason why I'd be jealous."

"Not ever?" Grace said.

"Not ever. I trust Jack."

"How admirable," Grace said. "Or naive. Either way, I envy you. It must be wonderful not to worry about other women in his past, the things he's shared with them, the, ah, intimacy. Just trusting they're indeed part of his past must be difficult enough."

"Are you implying something?" Rose said.

"What? Of course not."

"Because it seems," Rose said. "You're implying I shouldn't trust my husband. I can think of no reason why I shouldn't, or why you should want me to feel that way. If you know otherwise, please, enlighten me."

"I know things about him," Grace said, meeting her eyes.

"I'm sure you do," Rose said calmly. "That part of his life is over now."

"Is it? He doesn't want what he has," Grace said, undaunted. "He likes what he can't have."

"I assume you're referring to yourself," Rose replied coolly.

"Any woman," Grace said. "Once it was you. Did he ever tell you that? Did he tell you he dreamed about you when we were together? All the time? He called for you, his Princess Girl." She spat the title. Rose remained silent, her face expressionless. "Why did you leave him?" Grace asked. "I always wanted to know. What did you do to keep such a hold on him for so long?"

Rose tried to keep the image away, but it wouldn't stop. She saw them together, Grace in Jack's arms, bodies intertwined. She saw him making love to her with that look of intense concentration she knew so well, his eyes dark blue with desire, his soft sighs of pleasure. It was worse than a slap in the face. It had all really happened. This wasn't shocking, or it shouldn't have been, and yet, somehow it hit Rose harder than before. Jack told her it was meaningless; it had nothing to do with her, but how could that be true? How could it be dismissed so easily?

Grace's mouth turned up in a smile. "I didn't upset you, did I?" she said. "You shouldn't be getting excited in your condition. It can't be good for you."

"You know exactly what you're doing," Rose hissed, careful to keep her voice low. Anyone looking would have thought they were engaged in casual conversation.

"I really don't," Grace said innocently. "If he hasn't been honest with you, that's not my fault."

Jack scanned the room for Rose. His heart beat faster when he saw her next to Grace. What was she even doing there? Hadn't he made sure he was taken off the guest list? He should have known she would find a way in. Grace's connections ran deep. He moved through the crowd, eyes fixed on them. Grace's smile widened when she saw him. "Well, hello again, Jack," she said. "We were just talking about you."

"I'm sure you were," Jack said, not bothering to look at her. He put a hand on Rose's shoulder. "Rose, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Rose said distantly.

"What do you think I could do to her?" Grace said. "We've just been talking."

"That's more than enough," Jack said.

"What's wrong?" Grace said. "Afraid I'll tell her things you don't want her to know? Are you afraid I'll tell her about our month in-"

"Nothing you can say matters anymore," Jack said.

"Well, Rose's face says otherwise," Grace replied blithely.

Jack moved between them. He turned toward Rose. "Whatever she told you, Rose, it's-"

"I think I need to go home now," Rose said. She didn't look at him. "I'm not feeling well."

"I'll take you home." Jack offered.

"No, you stay here. The walk will be good for me. I need the air."

"You shouldn't walk home alone," he said.

"It isn't far. It won't take long." Rose accepted his kiss without responding. She didn't even seem to see him anymore. When she was gone Grace laughed. "Poor thing," she said. "She looks as though she's seen a ghost."

"I told you to leave us alone," Jack said.

"Or what?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why can't you just move on?"

"You mean the way you did?" she snapped. "It's not that easy for me, Jack. You hurt me. Do you ever stop to think about that? I'm sure you don't. And unlike you, I don't have a ready-made family to go back to. Did you consider that? You have your Princess Girl, and you're happy. You just want to forget I ever existed, but you can't. I won't let you."

"I know I hurt you," Jack said. "I treated you unfairly. I had no right to do that. I shouldn'tve been with you or anyone else back then. I had nothing to offer anyone. Rose is all I've ever wanted. I used you to try to forget that. I admit it. I'm sorry. I wish I could go back and do things differently. You didn't deserve the way I treated you. You still don't. But," he went on. "Making her miserable isn't gonna change anything. She's not part of this. She never hurt you."

"Maybe not," Grace said. "But it sure makes me feel better, and if she's miserable, so are you."

"If you don't stop-"

"Don't threaten me, Jack. You won't follow through," she said. "We both know it. This is the second time in a week we've had this conversation. It's a bit sad, really." Her eyes hardened. "And I have powerful friends. Don't forget that. Even if you had the strength to get rid of me, you'd fail."

...

The cold air burned her lungs. Rose didn't care; she welcomed it. At least this was a pain she knew how to deal with. Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away. The past was over, done with. It was so easy to believe that with Jack's arms around her and his reassurances in her ear, but when the past was staring her in the face, smirking, well, it wasn't quite so easy.

Rose quickened her pace when she heard the footsteps. She was only a block away from home; surely she could make it.

Rose screamed when the hand closed around her rm. She whirled around, fist raised. Jack reached out to stop her. "It's just me," he said.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Why didn't you say you were there?"

"I didn't want you walking alone," he said.

"I told you I can handle it. You didn't need to follow me."

"I wasn't trying to scare you," he said.

"You did a wonderful job anyway," she said.

"I'm sorry. I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?" Jack said. "Rose-"

"Were you worried about what your girlfriend had to say or about how I would react to it?" she asked.

"She's not-She doesn't mean anything to me," he said. "I didn't ask her to come into our lives. I don't want her here."

"But you wanted her at one time, didn't you, Jack?"

"In a way, yeah," he admitted. "But it wasn't real. It wasn't like the way I want you. It was never the way I want you. Don't you believe me?"

"Trusting you has always been so easy," Rose said.

"Because you can," Jack said. He took her hand. "I would never hurt you, Rose. Without you my life had no meaning. I didn't care about anything. All I wanted was to find ways not to think about it. That was selfish. I hid from the pain as long as I could."

"When I think about you with her-"

"Don't think about that," he said.

"I can't pretend it didn't happen, or that I don't know," Rose said. "What would you have done if you'd had a child with her? Would you have left them for us?"

"I can't answer that," Jack said.

"I'm not sure I want you to."

"Rose, I love you. Don't leave me. We waited so long to be together," he pleaded. "Don't end it now."

"I won't. I still love you, Jack. I still want to be with you, but I can't forget about you and her. I know it's over, but that doesn't matter. The fact that you can say it meant nothing scares me. I wish it didn't."

"Do you trust me?" he asked hesitantly.

"I trust you," Rose said. "I always trusted you. This just makes things more complicated. Actually seeing one of your girls, it's so much worse than hearing about her. When she talked about you it was real in a way it wasn't before. I thought of you as mine, Jack, even when we were apart. The truth is, you weren't."

"Yes, I was," Jack said. He kissed her hands. "I've been yours since we met. Nothing can change that. I was yours when I thought you were dead. I'm yours now."

...

Grace punched the pillow and lay down with a sigh. The evening hadn't been quite the success she'd hoped for. At first it seemed to go her way. The stricken look in Rose's eyes only lasted a moment, but that was long enough. She'd gotten to her, and that's what mattered. Jack came along and ruined things. He was so gallant coming to his lady's rescue. _Saving her from me,_ Grace thought. _As if I'm so bad, and he's the good one. As if he's done nothing_. She sighed again, more loudly this time. There had to be something else she could try.

"What's wrong?" a sleepy voice asked. "Or do you want me not to get any sleep tonight because you find it amusing?"

"I didn't mean to wake you up," she said. "Go back to sleep."

"How can I with you sighing and throwing yourself on the bed?" Cal faced her, head propped on his hand. "It feels like you're trying to toss me out of bed."

"Have I ever done that?"

He grinned lazily. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose. Something's bothering you, Grace. What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"If you tell me." he said. "I can help."

"I don't see how you can help with this."

"Don't underestimate me, Grace. There's nothing I can't do."

"Well, you've certainly proven that," she replied coyly.

"So, what's the problem?"

"Are you sure you want to get involved?" Grace asked. "Wouldn't you rather go back to Pittsburgh and be with your wife and children?"

"My children are away at school. They don't need me. As for my wife-" He frowned. "I'm not certain unceasing boredom can kill you, but I'd rather not take the chance." His voice lowered. "I prefer amusement. Stimulation. That's why I'm with you."

"If you're sure you want to help," she said.

"Tell me what you need."


	17. Chapter 17

They didn't speak for the rest of the night. Rose checked on Sylvia, and Jack followed. They got ready for bed quickly. As they settled in Rose looked at him. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Jack didn't know what to say. He wanted to reach for her but didn't, fear she would pull away. Rose curled up on her side of the bed and wished Jack's arms were around her. Things weren't great, but were they so awful they had to sleep apart? Her throat tightened. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Jack didn't remember falling asleep. He woke up with his arm across Rose. His hand rested on her belly. Her back was against him. He could smell her hair. Who moved first? Or had they moved at the same time? He placed a kiss on her cheek. She slid her head across the pillow. "No," she said. Her eyes were closed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just-"

"No," she repeated, shaking her head. "Jack, why would you do that? How could you?"

"Rose, you're dreaming," he said. "Wake up."

She was almost crying now. "But I love you!"

"Rose, wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open. She sucked in her breath. Jack peered down at her. Rose looked around, reassuring herself. "Was I talking?" she asked.

"Yeah, you were. What was going on?"

"You…It doesn't matter," she said. "It was only a dream. Thank you for waking me up."

"It does matter." Jack touched her face. "Rose, you were talking to me in the dream. What did I do?"

She avoided his eyes. "You left me-us you left us," she said.

"I would never do that. Rose, you know-"

"I know," she said quickly. "What I told you last night is still true. I trust you, Jack. But part of me is afraid."

"Afraid you can't trust me?"

"Afraid I can't trust any of this," she said. "Things have been going so well. We found each other again. We were free this time. Nothing could keep us apart. Sylvia loved you immediately. We're safe. There's enough money. My _mother_ is beginning to like you," she went on. "We're having this baby, and out of nowhere this girl from your past appears, and she wants you."

"She doesn't want me," Jack said.

"She's a fine actress then."

"She wants to hurt me," he said. "And she's doing that through you."

"It all just feels too good to be true," Rose said. "I was starting to be happy, really happy, and now I can't stop thinking what if…"

"There are no what ifs," he said. He pressed his hand to her cheek. "Those ended when we found each other. Rose, I love you. You're safe with me. I won't let anything come between us or hurt our family."

Rose wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt. Jack held her tightly. "It's gonna be alright," he whispered. "I promise."

…..

Something wasn't right. Ruth sensed it as soon as she entered the room. Jack and Rose were cordial to one another, but their usual warmth had receded. They were almost nervous around each other. "I'll be home early," Jack said. He kissed Rose. She pulled him close, her hands moving to his face. "Remember what I said," he whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Jack."

Ruth held her tongue as long as she could, which was until right after Sylvia had been seen off to school. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Rose said. "Everything's fine. Nothing unusual is happening."

"That's not true. Rose, I'm your mother. I can tell." Ruth looked into Rose's eyes. "Did something happen between you and Jack? Did you have a disagreement?"

"We-no, nothing like that."

"You can tell me," Ruth said. "I may even be able to help."

Rose played with her ring. "I don't think you can."

"How do you know? I was married to your father for a long time," Ruth said. "Not all of those years were good. We had problems, which I kept from you. Trust my experience, Rose, for once. Please."

"I don't know where to begin."

"What do you mean?" Ruth asked.

"I'm afraid if I tell you, it will undo all of the good that's happened so far," Rose said. "You'll hate Jack again, and we won't see you anymore."

"Letting you go was a mistake I don't intend to repeat," Ruth said. "What happened? Did he-"

"He didn't do anything. He didn't hurt me. He would never do that."

"It isn't another woman, is it?" Ruth said. "I can hardly believe it of him, but-"

"It isn't that," Rose answered. "Not really. Well, it sort of is. He-Jack hasn't done anything wrong."

"I'm surprised at your defending him, though maybe I shouldn't be."

"There's nothing to defend him for," Rose insisted. "He hadn't done anything." She paused. "Mother, there's something you don't know. Jack and I, we haven't been together the whole time."

Ruth stared at her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we lost one another, after the ship went down. He left New York, and I didn't," Rose explained. "I was pregnant with Sylvia. Jack didn't know anything about it. He didn't even know I was still alive. We found each other about ten months ago when he came to see my play."

There was a heavy silence as Rose's words sank in. "You were alone then?" Ruth said. "With a child? For years?"

"Yes. I've been trying to figure out the best way to tell you. I almost didn't," Rose said. "It started to seem like making trouble just for the sake of it."

"Where was Jack?"

"In Europe, mostly," Rose said. "He went back soon after the sinking. He couldn't stand being here. That's where he found this job. We met the first night, after he came back."

"And you were alone?' Ruth said again, still not quite believing. "Rose, why didn't you come to me for help?"

"How could I? It was clear what you thought of my choice," Rose said. "I couldn't very well marry Cal or anyone else while raising Jack's daughter, and I didn't want to. I promised myself I'd find a way to get by on my own. It wasn't easy. It was almost impossible. And then I met Marie, and she-"

"She knows all about this, I presume."

"She's been my friend a long time," Rose said. "She's done a great deal for me and Sylvia. She gave us a home and allowed me to make a better life for us. She's family."

"More so than your real family," Ruth sniffed.

"Be honest, Mother. What would you have done if I'd come back with a child, _Jack's_ child, no less? Would you really have wanted me there?"

"I don't know what I would have done," Ruth said. "But I would have liked the chance to find out."

"I did what I thought was best. And things eventually worked out," Rose said. "I learned to take care of myself and other people. I found strength I never knew I had. I wish Jack had been there, and you and I could have been close, but I can't change the past. I'm just grateful it turned out well, and I had the support I needed."

"Why are you telling me now?" Ruth said. "There must be a reason."

"Something happened last night, something that upset me. I thought it was over, but I realized I'm not. When Jack and I were apart, he wasn't always alone," Rose explained. "He spent….time with other women."

"That shouldn't come as a surprise to you." Ruth didn't intend for her words to sound harsh, but they did anyway. "He's a man, after all."

Rose allowed herself a chuckle. "Yes, I'm quite aware. I was also a bit naïve before. I let myself believe he was only mine, even when I wasn't with him."

"He left a strong impression on you."

"I loved him," Rose said. "I love him now. And it isn't the fact that there have been other women that bothers me. I knew there were others before me. It's seeing one of them and hearing her talk about him….as if he belongs to her….The things she said at the party…." Rose shook her head. "They made it all real in a way it never was before."

"Why was she there?" Ruth said. "Why does he have her anywhere near you?"

"He didn't ask he to be there. She-"

"Of course not," Ruth said drily. "What man would bring his wife and mistress together? Not even your father, with all his money squandering and awful choices, ever did that. But if he allows her to-"

"She's not his mistress," Rose said.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes, and I believe him. I trust him," Rose said. "She's angry because he left her. She doesn't like us being together."

"And you're willing to accept all this? To keep trusting you?"

"Of course," Rose said. "Jack would never hurt me or the children. I don't want to lose him again."

"I hope you aren't wrong about him, Rose."

…..

Jack noticed the change as soon as he stepped through the door. Ruth walked in from the kitchen, and her eyes narrowed. Her jaw tightened, and as quickly as it came, her expression disappeared; her features smoothed back into placidity. "You're home early," she said.

"I told Rose I would be," he said. "Where is she? The kitchen?"

"Yes."

"I'll just go see her then," he said. Ruth kept her eyes on him as he stepped around her. His spirits lifted when he saw Rose. Her back was to him. She sat at the table, tea cup in hand. Jack bent down and kissed her head. "I missed you," he said.

"You were hardly gone," she replied, not unpleasantly.

"So?" he said. "I still missed you." He sat down next to her. "How're you feeling?"

"How do you mean?"

"However you wanna talk about."

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said. "That was rude."

"I probably deserve it. Are you still upset with me?"

"It wasn't you," Rose said. "Not entirely. I'm feeling better, calmer, now. I'm not happy about what happened last night, but I know it wasn't your fault, and I can't let it come between us. If I say I trust you, I have to trust you."

Jack took her hand. He kissed her knuckles. "Thank you for trusting me, Rose."

"I don't want to ever see that woman again."

"You won't," he said. "I promise."

"What are you going to do, keep her away? Jack, you can't do that." She laced her fingers through his. "I told my mother about what happened and our being apart all that time," she said. "I didn't plan to; it just came out."

"That's why she hates me again."

"She doesn't hate you," Rose said. "She's concerned about me. She knows how I feel about you."

"And she's worried I'll take advantage of that."

"Or I'll pretend not to see when you do," she said. They looked at each other. "She compared you to my father," Rose added. "Apparently, not even he, scoundrel that he was, allowed his mistress near his wife."

"Grace is _not_ -"

"I know she isn't," she said. "I told her that. It's interesting, hearing her talk about my father, though. They didn't have a good marriage, but I never knew it was so terrible. Actually, I ignored what I could and pretended not to know about the rest. It makes me sad for her."

"It explains a lot about her," Jack said. "You know, you remind me of her. In good ways. You're both so determined, so willing to do what you think needs to be done. You'd be just like her with Sylvia."

"I would never ask her to-"

"No, not that," Jack said. "I mean, you'd do anything you could to keep her safe, to make sure the man she loved was good enough and really did love her back. It might sound crazy, since she tried to keep us apart, and would've if she could have, but I'm glad your mother loves you that much. She did what she thought was best, even if we know she was wrong, and all the money in the world can't make up for how Cal treated you."

"Let's hope she doesn't hold any of this against you," Rose said.

…..

Unfortunately, that didn't appear likely. Ruth spoke to Jack, but she used cool, clipped tones. He was as gracious as ever and pretended nothing was wrong. Sylvia noticed the change, however, and by the next day could contain her curiosity no longer. "What happened, Mama?" she asked, as Rose helped her dress.

"What do you mean, darling?"

"Why doesn't Grandmother like Daddy anymore?"

Rose was at a loss for words. She smoothed Sylvia's curly. "Of course he likes him," she said. "Why would you ask such a question?"

"She doesn't," Sylvia said. "I can tell."

"Sylvia, your grandmother is a complicated woman," Rose explained. "She isn't very comfortable expressing her feelings, and she has strong beliefs about the way things should be. Do you understand?" Sylvia nodded. "She didn't want me to marry your father," Rose went on. "When she met him, she didn't like him."

"Why?"

"She wanted me to marry another man, a rich man who would give me lots of fine things," Rose said.

"Daddy's rich."

"He wasn't back then," Rose said. "And she was very upset when I chose your father. She hasn't completely gotten over it, but she's trying. You have to keep that in mind. She's not a bad person. You shouldn't feel like you have to choose between them."

"I don't understand why anyone wouldn't like him," Sylvia said. "He's better than the one I imagined."

Rose hugged her. "Oh darling, I wish-" She stopped herself. It wouldn't do to say too much in front of her. "Grown people don't always see things the way children do," she said. "Sometimes, despite all they know, they miss things, important things."

"I don't want to miss things."

"You won't," Rose promised. "You're too much like your father."

….

"It's been days," Grace complained. "When are you going to do something?"

"Patience, my dear," Cal said. "These things take time, even for someone like me."

"Can you at least tell me what's going to happen?"

"Not yet," he said. "It isn't all worked out. When it is, I promise you'll know." He kissed her. "And don't I always keep my promises?"

"Yes," she said grudgingly. "To me, anyway."

"I have good reason to keep you happy."

Cal had a plan in mind, but he wasn't sure about it. He would need help if it was to succeed. Help could always be found, of course, for the right price. Grace knew nothing of his history with Jack or Rose; as far as she was concerned, it was all about her. She never suspected she'd handed him the perfect opportunity for revenge, and he wanted to keep it that way. "Run along," he said, kissing her again. "I have work to do."

"Will I see you later?" she asked.

"I'll meet you back at the hotel tonight."

….

Rose looked up as Ruth came into the kitchen. 'Mother, you're up early," she said. "I already have some coffee made, if you'd like a cup."

"Yes, thank you."

"Did you sleep well?" Rose asked. "I hope it wasn't too cold for you. Maybe it was just me. I had a chill all night."

"I was perfectly comfortable, thank you." Ruth accepted the full cup. "A chill could be a sign of something serious. Are you sure you feel alright?"

"I feel fine," Rose said. "Better than I expected, considering the way I felt when I was pregnant with Sylvia." Ruth winced at the word. "Sorry," Rose added.

"I'm glad you're feeling well."

"Mother, I want to thank you for listening the other day. It's important we be able to talk," Rose said.

"Yes, I agree."

"I know those weren't easy things for you to hear, but I'm glad you know everything now. Please, don't blame Jack for any of it," Rose said. "He didn't choose to leave me."

"You're quite certain of that?" Ruth said.

"Yes. In that chaos, it would have been a miracle if we found each other. He was ill afterward, and I was hiding. I changed my name. But that's all over now. I'm just grateful we did find one another again, and this time we can be together without a fight."

"I will never stop worrying about you," Ruth said. "You have children. You should understand that."

"I do," Rose said.

…

Rose shivered. She wrapped the bedclothes tighter around herself and moved closer to Jack. Warmth radiated from him. She pressed her legs against his. It was strange, this chill. She didn't get cold easily anymore, and the whole apartment was well-heated. No-one else had any complaints.

"Rose? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Jack. Go back to sleep."

"You're shaking," Jack said. He moved a hand over her. "You're freezing. Honey, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"No. I'm just cold."

"You were cold last night too," he said.

"I was cold all day," Rose admitted. Without another word he climbed out of bed. She shivered harder at the loss of his warmth. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Be right back."

Jack returned a few minutes later with a thick blanket and a steaming cup of tea. "Drink this," he said, putting the cup in her hands. "It'll help." He wrapped the blanket around her.

"Thank you." Just holding the cup made her feel better. Rose sipped the tea, its heat spreading through her. Jack pulled the bedclothes around her until she was swaddled in blankets and sheets, with only her face and hands visible. He held her against him. "You shoulda told me earlier," he said.

"I thought it would pass."

"You're just cold?" he said. "That's all?"

"That's all."

"Do you think it has something to do with the baby?"

"No," Rose said. "I can tell."

"How? I mean, what's it like?" he asked.

"It's difficult to describe," she answered. "I can feel the baby, even when he's not moving. I just, I know he's alright."

"He?" Jack said. "How do you know it's-"

"I don't," she said. "Not really. I think it might be. It doesn't feel the way Sylvia felt. I could be wrong," she added. "Don't be disappointed."

Jack kissed her forehead. "Rose, I could never be disappointed by our babies or by you." He took the empty cup. "Want more?"

"No, thank you." Rose closed her eyes. Jack's arms were strong around her; even through the blankets she could feel them. She felt his warmth; it enveloped her, like love. "Will you hold me?"

"Always," he said.

Rose knew sleep was overtaking her. She didn't want this feeling to end. Everything was right again. Her misgivings, the anger and hurt, were gone. Jack loved them; he wouldn't leave; her mother finally understood; nothing else mattered.

Of course, others didn't agree.


	18. Chapter 18

"I don't know what you're so nervous about," Ruth said. "These are your friends."

"I'm not nervous," Rose said.

"Then why are you fidgeting?"

"I'm not," Rose insisted. "My shoes are too tight." She breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped them off under the table. "There. I feel much better now."

"Rose," her mother hissed under her breath.

"What? No-one can see my feet, and they were pinching terribly. I forgot about this part."

Over the past week Rose's belly had swollen to twice its previous size. Any lingering doubts about her condition were gone. "It looks like you've got two in there," Jack had said.

Rose gave him a hurt look. "That's good to know."

"I'm sorry." He laid his head on her shoulder and hugged her. "I meant it as a good thing. We'd have twins. You look beautiful, Rose."

"I don't feel beautiful," she said.

Jack kissed her. "I'll make you feel beautiful," he whispered, his voice moving over her like a pair of deft hands. Just thinking about it made Rose blush, which was exactly what happened at that moment, two days later in the tea room.

"Are you feeling warm?" Ruth asked. "You're flushed."

"Am I?" Rose said, a little too quickly. "I feel fine." Ruth watched her, unconvinced. "Here come Amy and Marie," Rose said, waving them over. "Mother, please be nice."

"Why wouldn't I be nice? Do you think I've forgotten how to speak to people?"

"It's just, I know you don't care for-" Rose began.

"I agreed to this," Ruth said. "I will not embarrass myself or you."

All talk ceased as the two women reached the table. Rose and Ruth stood up to greet them, but Marie dismissed the gesture with a wave of her hand. "There's no need for that," she said. "This isn't a formal occasion, just friends having tea."

Rose smiled warmly. "You both remember my mother, I'm sure."

"Yes, of course," Amy said. "Mrs. Dewitt-Bukator."

"You may call my Ruth, if you prefer."

"Ruth." Marie smiled. "I had an aunt by that name."

Talk stalled until Rose said, "So, Amy, I hear your work is selling even better than Jack expected."

Amy half-frowned. "Yes, he tells me it's going well."

"Don't you want that?" Ruth asked. "I understood you were a professional artist."

"Amy isn't sure she believes in art as a profession," Marie explained. She turned her smile on Amy, affection in her eyes. "She'd rather keep her art pure and not sully it with money."

"One can't live without money," Ruth said.

"Unfortunately not," Amy agreed. "It isn't that I'm ungrateful. I appreciate everything Jack's doing for me, but I wish the people buying my work were doing so because they love it and not because they expect the value to increase eventually. I don't want my art to be an investment."

"I can understand that," Rose said. "And I must say, I love your work. I expect we'll buy a few pieces for the apartment."

"Thank you," Amy said. "I know you understand it."

"Why didn't Jack and Sylvia come today?" Marie asked.

"I thought it might be nice to have a sort of girls-only affair," Rose said. "And he wanted to spend the day with Sylvia."

"I haven't been considered a girl for quite a while," Ruth said, allowing herself a laugh.

"I'm probably not either, anymore," Rose said. She placed a hand on her belly.

"I don't mind it," Marie said. "Some people still refuse to take me seriously, but those people are much fewer than they used to be."

"That's because of your money," Amy joked. "Trust me, dear. We're the same age."

Marie gave her a look. "It's yours too, you know," she said. Amy lowered her eyes, a blush creeping along her cheeks. Rose felt as though she were spying on them. Was this how people felt when they happened upon her and Jack? Ruth tried not to look. What was happening was definitely something she preferred not to see.

…

The day's brightness gave an illusion of warmth. Jack and Sylvia walked at a leisurely pace, heavily bundled against the cold. They both wore scarves and gloves knitted by Rose. "Where're we going?" Sylvia asked. "Another museum?"

"Not quite," Jack answered. As they turned a corner he added, "Some of the best art you'll ever see isn't in museums. It doesn't always end up there. Sometimes it's lost and forgotten because not enough people recognize what it is." Ahead were stalls with pottery, sculptures, paintings, and other hand-made wares. The street was bustling with people. Sellers shouted to one another and beckoned customers in a variety of languages. Tourists wandered through, more than a few dressed in fine clothes. Sylvia took everything in, eyes wide. "We're looking for art here?" she said.

"Uh-huh. Think we'll find anything?"

She nodded eagerly. They moved slowly, stopping at every stall on one side. Sylvia wanted to touch everything. There were shawls made of velvet and from shiny, silky fabrics, all in rich colors. There were hair pieces with ribbons and feathers and bits of lace. Paper flowers. Sculpted birds. Painted china. When they reached the end of the first side, they found a woman selling hot pirozkhis and varenykys. Sylvia inhaled the delicious scents. To her delight, Jack bought two for each other them. They stood at the edge of the market, watching the crowd while they ate. "Good?" he said. She nodded, her mouth full of the Russian treat. Jack grinned. "You like it here?"

"It's the most wonderful place I've ever seen," she said.

"I'll take you to the one in Paris," he promised. "And in Sicily. Those are even better."

"I can't imagine how they could be," she said. "Have you taken Mama there?"

"Not yet."

"What about to this one?" she said. "You should bring her here if you haven't."

"I should," he agreed.

They started up the other side. Sylvia's eye was immediately caught by a book stall. "Go on," Jack said. He nodded toward the stacks of books. These Sylvia allowed herself to touch, running her fingers over their spines reverently. Some were so old they were falling apart, their bindings torn in places and simply worn away in others. Some were shiny and new, their bindings stiff, their pages smooth and white. Sylvia was half-drunk on the smell of them. When she couldn't hold anymore, she stepped away.

She looked up at Jack. "Books are art."

"They are," he said.

She knew from his tone he understood what she meant. It wasn't just literature as an art form, but the books themselves that were art. She took his hand, pleased by this mutual understanding.

They walked on, passing stalls with paintings in frames and out, picture post cards, fragrant teas, old shows dyed to look new, a palm reader, a basket of kittens, and necklaces made from gemstones strung together like pearls.

Jack paused the longest in front of the necklaces. There were rose quartz, lapis lazuli, moonstones, labradorites, amethysts, turquoise, and dozens more he couldn't name. Without intending to, he picked up a string of abalone shell beads. Sylvia watched, curious about what could come next. He held them up, letting the light bounce off them. He smiled, imagining them around Rose's neck.

….

"If Sylvia doesn't grow up to be an artist, I won't mind," Rose said. "Of course not."

"I hardly see how she could avoid it," Marie said.

"It may sound absurd, but I don't know if I could handle raising an unartistic child," Amy said. "I wouldn't understand them."

"I raised a Bohemian," Ruth said mildly. "Despite my best efforts to the contrary. Adjustment is possible, if you try." She and Rose shared a glance.

Rose smiled gratefully. "All I want is for my children to be happy," she said. "And well, that'[s all I've ever wanted. I know sometimes that come the way I expect or even would like."

"It's getting close for the new one, isn't it?" Marie said.

"Not quite," Rose said. "He has a few months still."

"He?" Ruth said.

"How do you know it's a boy?" Amy asked.

"I don't, exactly," Rose said. "I just have a feeling. I didn't feel this way with Sylvia, but then again, that was a much different time. I feel different all around with this baby."

"A son would be nice," Ruth remarked.

"I won't mind either way," Rose said. "It might be twins, from the size I am."

"Do you really think so?" Marie said.

"Could you tell?" Amy said.

They leaned forward, fascinated by something so foreign to their own lives. "Maybe I could," Rose said. "When the baby starts moving more often. By the end, Sylvia moved all the time." She glanced at Ruth. Her mother's discomfort was obvious. "Shall we order another pot of tea?" Rose asked.

…

It felt like he had been talking forever. The paintings were nice, but Sylvia's attention kept wandering. How much was there to say? She looked up at Jack. He and the man were talking animatedly with no sign of stopping. She sighed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the kittens. They'd passed by them without stopping to look in the basket. The kittens climbed over on another, meowing. Sylvia tugged on Jack's hand. "Can I go see the kittens?" she asked.

"What?" He glanced over at them. "Sure," he said. She was still within sight. He turned so he would see her better. "Don't go anywhere else," he said.

Jack kept his eye on her. He was close enough to step in if anything happened. "Let me show you this one," he man said. Jack looked away, just for a moment, trusting she would still be there when he turned back.

She wasn't.

…

Cats were more difficult to hold than Sylvia anticipated. Her favorite refused to stay in her arms. He insisted on leaping to the ground and trying to run away. She managed to grab him before he got far, but he last time he was too fast for her. Thinking only of retrieving the cat, she ran after him. When she caught him, she was in another part of the market. In the crowd it was impossible to tell if she'd been there before or how far she'd gone. Frantically, she searched the crowd for Jack. He had to be there somewhere.

Sylvia darted toward the first blonde man she saw. It wasn't him. Neither was the second nor toe third. Her palms began to sweat. She clutched the wriggling cat, blue eyes wide with alarm.

"You look like you could use some assistance."

Sylvia found herself looking up at Cal. Her first instinct was to turn and keep going in the opposite direction. Her mother had warned her about talking to strangers, especially strange men. She was never, ever to do it. Rose hadn't told her exactly why she shouldn't; she just hinted something terrible might happen if she did.

But he didn't look threatening. He looked a bit nice, actually, and she did need help. Her mother also told her to find an adult when she needed help. Was this the sort she meant? It was all so complicated. "Yes," she said in a small voice. "Please."

"Where are your parents?" Cal asked.

"I'm with my father. I lost him, chasing this cat." Sylvia held it up guiltily. The kitten let out a plaintive meow, and Cal fought the urge to sneeze. "Let's see if we can't find him, shall we?" he said. He held out a hand. Sylvia hesitated before taking it. She knew being alone was frightening; being with him couldn't be any worse, could it?

…..

Jack's heart beat wildly. Where was she? Possibilities flooded his brain. She wandered off. Someone took her. They were all variations of those two. He searched the spot where she'd been, but there was no sign of her. "Did you see the little girl who was here?" he asked. "Red hair?" A chorus of shaking heads was all the answer he got. His throat tightened. His voice rose. "Did anyone see a little girl with red hair? Anyone?"

"The one with the cat?" a woman said.

"Yeah, her," he said. "Do you know where she went?"

"She went that way, chasing it. I think she—"

Jack didn't wait to hear the rest. He hurried through the crowd, scanning for any trace of Sylvia. She couldn't have gotten far on her own. But maybe she wasn't on her own. Someone could have—Jack tried to keep the thoughts from appearing. He had to find her. He _would_ find her.

He was just about to lose hope when he saw her. It was only a flash of red, but that was enough. He ran toward it. "Sylvia?" he called. His blood ran cold when he saw Cal standing next to her. Their hands were clasped. "You—" The words wouldn't come out. Panic welled up within him, worse than before, followed by anger. How dare Cal come anywhere near his daughter.

Cal's expression was pleasant, friendly even, but Jack knew better than to believe it. He was threatening their family. It was like no time had passed.

"Daddy!" Sylvia ran toward him. She threw her arms around him, releasing the cat, who tore off without a second thought. Jack let out a heavy breath. He scooped her up. "I told you not to wander off," he said. He held her in an iron grip. "Why didn't you listen?"

"I was trying to find the cat," she said. "He kept running away. I didn't mean to go that far." Tears glistened in her eyes.

"It's alright," Jack said reassuringly. "You're safe. That's all that matters." He looked over her head at Cal.

"That's my friend," she said. "He was trying to help me find you."

"Was he?" Jack said. "I should thank him for that."

"There's no need," Cal said. "Anyone would have done it. I'm just glad she's found you."

"Are you?" Jack said quietly.

"She's a fascinating child," Cal said, ignoring the question. "We had quite a talk. I never would have guessed she was yours. She looks so much like her mother. But, I suppose, the eyes are yours." Cal smiled slightly as his words took full effect.

"He knows Mama," Sylvia said.

"I see that," Jack said.

"I knew her very well," Cal said. "I knew your father too. They probably haven't spoken about me, though."

"Why not?" Sylvia asked, her fear forgotten.

"We'll talk about that later," Jack said. He kept his eyes fixed on Cal.

"It would be shame if anything happened to her," Cal said. "I'm glad I could help."

" _Nothing_ will happen to her," Jack said.

….

"She was with _whom_?" Rose's voice cracked. Her jaw was tense. "And he told her _what_?" Ruth and Sylvia were in the kitchen, across the apartment from their bedroom, but Jack still checked the hallway. "No so loud," he said. "You don't want your mother to find out, do you?"

"I didn't want my daughter to know!"

"I get that," he said, holding up his hands. "Believe me, Rose, I didn't want her to find out anything either, especially not now and not like that."

"What exactly did he say to her?"

"Just that he knew us a long time ago," Jack said. "He told her enough to make her trust him."

"I cannot believe you let-"

"I know. I'm sorry," he said. "Rose, I never meant for it to happen. She was _right there_. I looked away for _one second_ , and she was gone." His eyes were weary. "I was so afraid," he went on. "I thought-"

"I know." Rose took his hands. "I've had those thoughts."

"And when I saw her with him. Rose, I haven't been that scared since the sinking. Not since we were down in that water, running for our lives. If he'd hurt her-"

"Now, do you understand why I worry?" Rose said. "There are things, threats we haven't even thought of yet. I never dreamed Cal would be one of them, not anymore. I was sure he was out of our lives forever."

"He is," Jack said. "This was a crazy coincidence. He saw her, and he saw you in her, and he decided to have some fun at our expense. It was just a sick joke for him."

"Are you certain that's all it was?"

"Yes." Jack gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "It was a stupid mistake. It should never have happened. I was too busy discovering new talent," he said scornfully. "I didn't think about what might happen. I'm not great at being a father, I guess."

"Jack, that's not true."

"Isn't it?" he said. "What if someone else found her? Someone who might've taken her or hurt her? That woulda been _my_ fault, Rose. It's my fault she's met that-"

"I know. But, Jack, I don't blame you. It was a mistake, but this doesn't mean you're a bad father," Rose said. "I'm not angry with you. I'm upset, but with the situation, not you. I'm glad she's safe. That's the most important thing. And that you told me."

"Why wouldn't I tell you?"

"Because you were afraid of how I'd react?" she said.

"I don't keep things from you," Jack said. He moved his thumb over her cheek. "It seems kinds silly to ask how your day was now."

"It was rather good. Everyone got along well. It was much better than I expected."

"What about you?" he asked. "How'd you feel?"

"Fine. There were no arguments or veiled insults." Rose laughed. "Mother was the nicest I've seen her in years, even while disapproving of us all."

"But you felt alright?"

"Jack, I'm fine," she said. "In fact-" She placed his hand on her belly. Her smile widened along with his eyes. "Is that-?" he said.

Rose nodded. "That's our baby."

Jack stared at her. "I didn't know they could do that," he said. He put his other hand on her belly. "And that's supposed to happen?"

"Yes. It's perfectly normal."

He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you, Rose. I'm sorry. I won't let anything like that happen again."

….

Jack was right not to trust Cal, though he told himself Sylvia was safe. Not even Cal would hurt a child. There was nothing to be gained from it. Rose vividly recalled the shots ringing out, barely missing them, but that was a different time. When in his right mind Cal was a methodical, coldly logical man.

It was that cold logic that had taken him to Sylvia, and as he sat by the fire, waiting for Grace to arrive, it was that cold logic guiding him. Cal thought of the events of that afternoon, and he considered the possibilities.


	19. Chapter 19

The pain was sharp. Rose felt like something was being pushed into the back of her head. She held the doorframe for support as the room swam before her eyes.

"Rose?" Jack laid a hand on her arm. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she said weakly.

"You don't look fine."

"Well, thank you," she said. She tried to laugh; the movement made the pain worse. Her stomach rolled, and she gripped the doorframe tighter. Jack put his arm around her. "C'mon," he said. "Let's take you back to bed."

"That's not necessary."

"Well, I think it is," he said, steering her down the hall.

"So, I do what you say now?" Rose said.

"No. You let me take care of you."

'Jack, I don't need to be taken care of," she argued. She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She wobbled forward. Jack's arms caught her. "You do," he said. "What's wrong?"

"It's just my head." She sank against him. "It's never hurt this badly," she said.

Rose was limp as he took off her dress and tucked her into bed. He closed the curtains. "Does that help?" he asked.

"A little."

Jack kissed her. "I'll get you some water," he said. "And some ice for your neck."

"Ice?"

"It helps," he said. "Do you need anything else? Can you eat?"

"Not yet," she said. "I shouldn't be doing this. I have so many things to get done."

"Don't worry about that. Me and your mother'll manage," Jack promised. "You just rest. I'll be right back."

He was right. Ice on the back of her neck did help. The pain didn't vanish completely, but it did recede enough that she could focus her eyes again. Rose burrowed into the pillow, blanket up to her chin. She felt drained, as if she'd been up for days. Sleep beckoned, but she told herself to get back out of bed. There was too much to do. Jack and her mother shouldn't have to take responsibility for her.

She didn't move; she couldn't. Her body was too weary, and the bed was too warm and inviting. Jack tucked the blankets around her; it was like being held.

"Your mother insisted I bring you some breakfast," Jack said. He sat on the edge of the bed. Rose opened her eyes. She smelled toast and jam. "Is that plum?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "You think you can eat a little?"

"I'll try."

She ate slowly, taking small bites. Jack held out a cup of tea. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

"I don't know why I feel this way," she said.

"It probably has something to do with the baby."

Rose touched her belly. "He feels alright. At least, I think he does. He's been moving around."

"I still can't believe they do that."

"It's an odd feeling," she said. "Sylvia was never still. She was so restless, just like you."

Jack smiled and put his hand over hers. "You should stay in bed today," he said.

"Jack, I told you, I can't.'

"There's nothing me and your mother can't handle," he said. "You need rest."

"I'm feeling better," Rose argued.

"Rose, I can see in your eyes you aren't."

"It isn't fair to ask you to handle everything," she said. "Sylvia doesn't have school today, and you—"

"I can take Sylvia with me," Jack said.

"But you'll be working."

"So?" He shrugged.

"So you can't have a small girl along."

"Sure I can," he said. "Or she can stay with your mother. Either way, it's not a problem."

"But Jack—"

"But Rose," he said. He kissed her. "I'll be back at lunch to see how you're doing. Your mother will be here if you need anything."

"I won't," Rose said.

"If you do."

"I won't," she repeated.

….

Sylvia went with Jack to the gallery, leaving Ruth alone. The breakfast things were washed and put away. The rest of the apartment was clean. There was nothing for her to do. She sat on the couch, hands folded primly in her lap, and sighed. This was exactly the sort of morning she once looked forward to. Quiet, leisurely, no demands on her time. In the old days, such mornings had been rarer than anyone realized. There were always events to plan, servants to direct, guests to entertain. No-one had ever appreciated the effort she put in, least of all her husband. If she'd taken to her bed, sick, he would have been the last to know. He wouldn't have lifted a finger to help.

In some way, it was hard _not_ distrust Jack. He was so sweet and attentive, which in Ruth's experience, coming from a man, usually meant he was hiding something. With her husband's first mistress, he began coming home early, claiming he wanted to spend more time with her and Rose. She wasn't suspicious because it never occurred to her he might be meeting someone during the day. But he was. Or rather, he was meeting her in the apartment he'd gotten for her.

With the second one, he began buying Ruth gifts. Jewelry, mostly, exquisite pieces that made her feel like a queen. Rose played with them. She loved putting everything on at once and standing in front of the mirror. Ruth always told her not to touch any of it. Those pieces were worth too much to be used as toys. She might break one or lose it.

"Someday, I'll give them to you," Ruth promised. "Now, go and play with your dolls."

It wasn't until much later that she realized Rose hadn't been interested in the jewels at all. She just wanted to be near her mother. By then, it was too late. The jewels were gone, and so was Rose, both lost forever. When she thought of him, which was more often now than she would have liked, it was with disgust. The only sadness Ruth felt was for Rose and herself, for what might have been.

Ruth looked around, taking in the carefully chosen furniture, the art on the walls, the everyday objects that signaled this room was lived in. She told herself, if things had been different, if they'd still been secure, if they'd had money of their own, she would have let Rose marry Jack. It was a lie, of course; she would likely have objected with even more vehemence had Rose been an heiress. In that case, Jack would have been a fortune hunter out to steal her money. But it was a well-intentioned lie.

…..

Jack tucked the blankets around her again. Rose made a sleepy sound and started to open her eyes. "Go back to sleep," he whispered. "Just checking on you." He kissed her forehead and ran his thumb across her cheek.

….

The gallery was empty. The mid-afternoon was usually a slow time. Jack was in his office. Sylvia sat at a table in the front, reading. She only looked up when the door opened. Recognition flashed in her blue eyes as Cal walked in. She didn't move. He looked as friendly as he had the day she met him. He smiled and came over to her. "Well, I never thought we'd meet like this," he said.

Sylvia hesitated, unsure if she was supposed to talk to him. Her parents hadn't expressly told her not to. Most of what they'd said after the incident concerned wandering off and getting lost, but still, she remembered her mother's warnings about talking to strangers. And there had been a distinct air of unease when he was mentioned. Sylvia didn't understand why. He seemed perfectly nice, and he _had_ been perfectly nice to her. The urge to be friendly—also something her parents instructed her to do—won out over her hesitation. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to look around," Cal said. "Is that alright?"

"Yes, of course. You'll probably want my father, though."

"Oh, is he here?" Cal said, feigning ignorance.

"In the back," Sylvia explained. "He's in his office, working."

"I see. We wouldn't want to disturb him, would we? He must be a very busy man. Perhaps you could show me around?"

"Well…." Sylvia glanced over her shoulder at Jack's door. Would he mind? Or would he prefer to be left in peace? He said he had a lot to do, but he sounded cheerful when he said it. He also told her they'd go home early, but maybe that was only if he was able to finish everything. "Yes," she said. "I'll show you around."

"Thank you." He took a step back and bowed grandly. "After you."

She grinned, charmed by the gesture. It was like something out of a book or a picture. Even the way he talked was like something out of a story. She snuck a glance at him as they walked over to the first painting. He certainly was handsome. Sylvia didn't know it, but time had been kind to him, perhaps kinder than he deserved. He wasn't good-looking in the way Jack was, though. She wanted to ask how he knew her parents, her mother in particular. For the first time, Sylvia wondered if Rose had ever loved someone other than her father. Had she loved this man?

Maybe, she thought, the wheels of her lively imagination spinning, it hadn't been that way. Maybe he loved Rose, but she didn't feel the same way. Or maybe he'd been Jack's friend. What if they were somehow related? Sylvia liked that idea. Jack's—and by extension, her own—lack of family bothered her. She'd always had her mother and Marie and all their friends, but Jack didn't have anyone before he came into their lives.

"I suppose you can tell me all about these paintings," Cal said, indicating the wall in front of them. "Being your father's daughter, I have no doubt of your artistic temperament."

Sylvia smiled brightly. "Those are all Amy's paintings," she said. "Her mermaids are here, and the dancers are in the other room."

"Amy? Do you know her?"

She nodded. "She comes to the house. She's our friends." It never occurred to her not to tell him about herself or the people she knew. Some things were off-limits; at nearly seven she understood that, but she sensed no danger from Cal. He presented himself as a friend, and trusting child that she was, she believed him.

"That's very interesting," Cal said. "You must get to meet a lot of interesting people."

"Not really. Not a lot. When Mama worked at the theater, I met a lot of her friends there. But she doesn't work there anymore."

"Actors and such?" he said.

Sylvia nodded. "And writers. Mama did both."

"Yes, I remember now," he said. "It's been such a long time since I saw her."

"Why?"

"There are many reasons," Cal said. "Complicated reasons, none fit for a little girl like you." The surprising thing was, Cal meant it. For the briefest moment, he found himself having second thoughts about what he was doing. It was wrong, manipulating a child this way, using her as a pawn, but he pushed all that down. He had a goal, and he wasn't going to lose sight of it. Grace was counting on his help-and wouldn't she be impressed?-and he considered it only fair Jack and Rose's idyllic life be interrupted for a bit. Cal knew he should have moved on, and for the most part, he had, but a piece of him still wanted to win.

"Syl-" Jack stopped mid-sentence. He looked from Cal to Sylvia. "What are you doing here?" he asked, making an effort to keep his voice normal.

"I came to purchase some art," Cal replied glibly.

"I was showing him around," Sylvia said.

"Were you?" Jack said.

"She was doing an excellent job," Cal said. His hand hovered just about Sylvia's curls.

Jack glared at it. "Syl, you shoulda come and gotten me," he said.

Sylvia stepped over to him. "He asked me," she said, confused. Jack looked down at her, and his expression softened. "You did good," he said. "But you still should get me, alright?" She nodded. He turned his gaze back to Cal. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.

Cal's dark eyes laughed. "No," he said. "Thank you. She's shown me everything."

….

They walked home as quickly as Sylvia's short legs would allow. Jack held her hand; his eyes darted around, half-expected to see Cal again. It was with relief that he entered the apartment. "Go on to your room and play," he said. "There's still some time before dinner."

Jack sank into his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. What was Cal up to? One encounter was a coincidence; two was a sign of something, But of what? What interest could he possibly still have in them?

"Are you worried about her?" Ruth asked.

Jack jerked his head up, startled. "Yeah," he said, not realizing at first she meant Rose and not Sylvia.

"That's understandable. She's been sleeping all day and seems to be fine, if exhausted," Ruth said. "I looked in on her about an hour ago."

"Thanks. That's good to hear." Jack managed a smile. "I'm glad you were with her today."

"Of course. I'm her mother."

"I know I've said this already, but it really means a lot to her that you're here," he said. "And to Sylvia too."

"But not to you?"

"I didn't think you'd care if it mattered to me," Jack replied. "But yes, it does. Especially now."

"Given Rose's delicate condition?" Ruth said.

Her candor was surprising. "Exactly," he said. "I'm only so much help. I try, but-"

"You're a man." It was said without judgment.

He chuckled. "Exactly. And uh, I was wondering if you'd mind staying on for a while longer? To help with Rose and with Sylvia a little?"

"Are you sure Rose wants me to stay? We agreed to a visit," Ruth said. "This sounds rather like moving in."

"Just for a few months. Or if you want, you could go back to Philadelphia for a bit and then come back here. We'll pay for the tickets," Jack offered.

"That isn't necessary."

"I'd like to do it," he said. "If you don't leave yet, fine, but when you do, I'd like to help."

"Showing you have money now?" Ruth said mildly. "I don't suppose I can blame you."

"No, that's not it. I just wanna help. Not to make myself more impressive, but because it means something to me, being able to," Jack explained.

"Alright then," she said.

…

Rose lay on her back, asleep. Jack's pillow was in her arms. She looked peaceful. He dreaded telling her what happened. Any good the day of rest had done would immediately be erased when she found out Cal had been with Sylvia again. Anything could have happened. He could have snatched her up and run away, leaving no clues. But he wouldn't do that. Would he? He hadn't. Based on what Sylvia said on the way home, they just talked casually. There was nothing threatening about him. The whole thing made Jack uneasy. Something wasn't right.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and touched Rose's hand. Not telling her wasn't an option. It would be as bad as a lie.

He'd planned to give her the necklace that night, but it didn't feel right anymore.

Jack slipped out of his shoes and lay down next to Rose. He put an arm around her and kissed her temple. "I don't know, Rose," he murmured. "I don't get it."

…

Jack was sleeping next to her when Rose woke up. His hair fell over his eyes, and she was struck one more by how beautiful he was. "Jack?" she said softly. She gave him a gentle shake.

"Mmm-hmm." He didn't move.

"Wake up," she said.

Rubbing his eyes, he said, "What time is it?"

"Nearly six."

"I was supposed to make dinner," he said. "When did I fall asleep?" He grinned at her. "You look rested.

"I feel good," Rose said. "I have to admit, you were right. I needed a day like this." She stretched her arms above her head. "What about you? How was your day?"

"I had a nice talk with your mother."

"Really? What about?" she asked.

"Her staying here for a while, you know, to spend more time with you and Sylvia and maybe help out a little. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I don't mind," she said. "Did she agree?"

"She seemed to. I think she and I are in a good place." Jack paused. "Rose, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"What?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh, well, Sylvia went to the gallery with me today. I had some stuff to do after lunch. I was in the office, and she was at the table out front, you know, reading."

"What happened?"

"Someone came in," he said. "And uh, she talked to them. I didn't realize they were there at first."

Rose looked at him intently. "Jack, what are you trying to say? It wasn't that woman, was it?"

"Grace? No. It wasn't her," Jack said. "I haven't heard from her since the party."

"So, who was it?"

"It was Cal," he said. He held his breath as Rose took in what he'd said. Her face went pale.

"Cal? Right there, in the gallery?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" she said, disbelief in her voice.

"I don't know. He told Sylvia he wanted to buy a painting," Jack said. "I doubt that. He didn't just walk in there with no idea where he was going."

"He spoke to Sylvia? Alone? For how long? What did he say to her?" The questions tumbled from Rose's mouth. Her head spun. She closed her eyes against the dizziness.

"He didn't say anything really, nothing that matters. She said he asked questions."

"I don't understand," she said. "It's like he's seeking us out deliberately. Or seeking her out."

"That's what I thought," Jack said.

"She's just a child. What interest can he have in her?"

"I don't know," he said. "But-" He was cut off by Sylvia bounding into the room.

"Grandmother says to fetch you for dinner," Sylvia said. Seeing the look on Rose's face she added, "Mama, do you feel okay?"

"I'm fine," Rose said, forcing a smile. "Tell her we'll be there in a minute."

They looked at each other, neither sure what to think. The only thing they knew for certain was they didn't like whatever was happening.


	20. Chapter 20

"What are you doing?" Rose asked, her hand still on the light switch. Jack sat next to the window, his back to the door. He held his sketchbook and a pencil. His expression was somber. He turned toward her, putting on a grin. "Hey," he said. "What're you doing up so late?"

"I believe I just asked you that," she said mildly.

"I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd draw."

"In the dark?" she said.

"I was gonna turn on the light. Eventually."

"Jack, are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded and held out his hand. "C'mere." He looped his arm around her waist. "Are _you_ alright, Rose?"

"I'm fine." Rose brushed back his hair. "Is this about what happened the other day?"

"It worries me," Jack said.

"It worries me too."

"I wish we could tell her," he said.

"She's much too young."

"I know," he said. "I just…He's dangerous."

"Jack, you have to stop thinking about this so much. You'll drive yourself crazy. There's nothing we can do," Rose said. "This is probably just a game to him. He wants you up all night trying to figure out what he'll do next."

"But why now? Why after all this time?"

"I'm not sure he planned it," she said. "I think he saw the two of you that day and decided it would be amusing to upset you. I doubt there's a master plan behind it."

"You're probably right."

"Come back to bed, Jack," Rose said, kissing his forehead. "Please? I can't sleep without you."

"Well, I'd hate to keep you up," Jack said.

…

"Rose, are you sure you should be going out?" Ruth couldn't keep the hint of reproach out of her voice. "In your condition-"

"I'm fine, Mother," Rose insisted. "I was fine yesterday when you asked, this morning when Jack asked, and then later when he asked again. I'm not doing anything strenuous. I can't sit here all day."

"We're only concerned for you," Ruth said.

"I know you are, and I appreciate that," Rose said. "But you have to remember I've done this before. I've done this alone."

"Must you bring that up?"

"It happened," Rose said.

"I don't see why we have to dwell on it."

"Who's dwelling?" Rose said. "I just want you to see I'm not going to fall apart. I'll be back in a couple of hours," she added.

…..

Rose smoothed her skirt. It was perfect already, but she couldn't keep her hands still. This shouldn't make her so nervous. Hadn't she done this before too? And yet, it felt different this time. She hadn't let herself think too much about it before. She wrote the first play almost without meaning to. She'd planned the whole thing out in her head, but she hadn't admitted what she was doing.

The chair was hard and uncomfortable. She put her hands on her belly. Her dress was loose, but it was still visible. She couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was watching her. That was ridiculous; they all had better things to do. She was relieved when Max finally arrived.

"Rose," he said cheerfully. "It's been a while."

"Yes, it is. I thought I'd be coming by sooner," she said. "I got a bit distracted, though. I only just now have something to show you."

"A new play? Excellent. I'd love to read it. Why don't you come into my office?" he said. "I'm sorry you had to wait."

"It's alright." Rose took a bound manuscript from her bag as she sat down. The small office was familiar; its mix of theatrical souvenirs comforted her. "It isn't perfect," she warned. "It still needs work."

"I'm sure it's good."

"I don't know about that," she said.

"You've always been so modest," Max remarked. "Obviously you believe in it, or you wouldn't be letting me read it. You intend to stage it, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered. "If there's enough interest."

"A lot of people were sorry to see your play end. Trust me, there's interest."

"It was getting good press, wasn't it?" Rose said. "To be honest, I miss being part of this world. Of course, I can't spend as much time on it as I did before. I'm married now, among other things. I can't oversee every detail."

"You don't have to," he said. "You wrote it. Just be the writer. Let everyone else handle their parts."

"That's not easy to do."

"I know it's not," he said. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll read this, and we'll get together in a few days to discuss it, alright? I'll see what I can make happen."

"Thank you," Rose said.

"I'm glad you're coming back. Does anyone else know?"

"Not yet," Rose answered. "I haven't let anyone else read it either. I'm not even sure this is something I should be spending my time on."

"You shouldn't ignore your talent," Max said.

She smiled. "Well, thank you again. It was nice to see you."

"Yes, it is," he said. "I'll call you in a few days, Rose."

…

Rose didn't tell Jack about her meeting with Max. She decided to wait until there was something more to tell. That afternoon Sylvia came home brimming with news of her class play. It was an abridged production of _Twelfth Night_. "It's all she talked about on the way home," Jack said.

"We get to audition for parts," Sylvia told Rose. "It's like a real play!"

"That sounds exciting," Rose said. "What role do you want?"

"I don't care," Sylvia answered. "I just want to be in it."

"That's a good attitude to have," Rose said. "Do you want to practice with me after dinner?"

Sylvia nodded eagerly. "Yes."

"Then we will," Rose promised. "Go change out of your school clothes."

Sylvia went off, her head full of stardom fantasies. How could she fail to land an important role? Her mother was a professional actress; such talent must run in the family. Ruth watched the exchange in silence. Once Sylvia was gone she said, "Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"What? Letting Sylvia be in the play?" Rose said. "Of course I do."

"I know you're pursued a career on the stage," Ruth said. "And with some success, but is that the sort of place for a child?"

"It's her school," Rose pointed out. "It isn't a real theater. I'm not suggesting she join a touring company."

"I should hope not," Ruth said.

" _I_ might have," Rose said. "I had the opportunity. More than once, actually. If I'd gone, I would have taken Sylvia with me. It may not be a conventional upbringing, but I don't see anything wrong with it."

"Rose, you can't mean that," Ruth said.

"Why don't we agree this will be something fun for Sylvia?" Jack said. "And if she wants to act later on, she can. You're right. She's a child. And-" He looked at Rose. "And no-one's suggesting she begin a stage career at six. You're right too. So, let's just let her enjoy this, alright?" He looked back at Ruth.

"I don't want to upset her," Ruth said.

"Good," Jack said. "Let's leave it at that." He put an arm around Rose and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "How was your day, Petal?"

"Fine," Rose answered. "As am I."

He grinned. "Good."

…..

Rose and Sylvia sat on the living room floor, cushions piled beneath them. Rose held a copy of the play, and Sylvia leaned against her as they read aloud. Ruth was on the couch, a basket of sewing at her feet. She heard only part of what they said. Her focus was on the tiny, perfect stitches she was creating. She hadn't been forced to take up sewing professionally, for which she was profoundly grateful, but she still did a great deal of it anyway. Now that new clothes were hard to come by she couldn't just toss them aside when they showed signs of wearing out, and there was no dress maker standing by to mend and alter them as the need arose.

Sewing passed the time, though, and she had a talent for it. Her eyesight wasn't quite what it used to be, unfortunately, and she had to focus more and more each time it seemed. If she stayed at it too long, her head began to ache. She tried not to think about it. It was only a minor inconvenience. It wasn't like she was going blind, or so she told herself.

Jack perched on the edge of his chair, chin on his hands, watching them. They looked so much alike. Side by side, it was even easier to see. Sylvia had the same lip shape as Rose and the same cheekbones. Rose claimed she saw him in her, but aside from the eyes, Jack had trouble spotting it.

As he watched them, he was struck again by Rose's talent. The worlds rolled easily off her tongue, and he forgot she was reading from a book. He forgot everything but the story she was helping tell. She read each line as if she'd written it herself. There was nothing forced or artificial in her delivery. She _was_ Viola. Jack couldn't help thinking she belonged onstage. She was a natural. The years of study and practice had only refined her talents, taking her far past the ingénue phase.

And yet, she'd chosen to stop. Temporarily, she said. She wanted another child. They both did. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that the new baby belonged in their lives. And they'd already lost so much time; they had to make up for it.

But what about Rose's career? Wasn't that important as well? Didn't she need to pursue it now? The opportunity wouldn't always be there.

Stopping was her choice, but Jack still felt a sliver of guilt. It grew as he watched her. After all, he'd wanted her to stop. Probably more than she did. He'd wanted her home every day; he wanted her there all the time, whenever he needed her. Was that fair? Did he have the right to ask for that?

….

Rose pulled her nightgown over her head. "I just wish she wouldn't tell us how to raise our child," she said. "I know she cares, but it's up to us what Sylvia does. We make the decisions."

"You can't let it bother you, Rose," Jack said. He put his arms around her from behind. "Just try to ignore her when she starts on that. I know it's hard, but you don't need to be upset."

"I'm not upset," she said. "I would like my mother to see me as a grown woman capable of making my own choices and capable of taking care of myself. That's all."

"I don't know if she ever will. You'll probably always be a little girl to her."

"Then why wasn't she interested in me when I was one?" Rose asked softly.

"Oh, Rose." Jack held her closer. She twisted around and pressed her face against his neck. He kissed her hair. "She loved you," he said. "She always has. Why do you think she hated me so much?" He chuckled.

"Because you were a penniless vagabond."

"Well, yeah," he said. "I can't see any parent being thrilled about that, but you know what I think the real reason was? I was gonna take you away. She knew if you chose me, we'd go off together, and she wouldn't see you anymore. With Cal, you were always gonna be there."

"We weren't married yet. Of course she was with us."

"But Rose-Petal, she was gonna be part of your life no matter what if you married him," Jack argued. "Think about it."

"You may have a point."

"And maybe she thought she could protect you," he said. "He couldn't hurt with her around to see it."

"I never thought about that," Rose said. "He was much easier to deal with when she was there, and she was there most of the time."

He lifted her head. "Don't let this bother you," he said. "Please?"

"I won't," Rose said. "I'll try. I just feel so many things now and so strongly. I can't control all of it."

"I know." He kissed her. "I want you to be happy."

"I am. Believe me, Jack, I am."

Their worries went unspoken. There was nothing new to say. Jack kissed her again. "I love you, Rose. You are loved. Don't ever doubt that, not for a second."

"I don't. Not anymore." Rose traced his lip with her thumb. "I love you, Jack. I don't say it enough."

"You don't hafta say it."

"I want to," she said. "No-one in my family ever said it. My father died, and I never heard it from him, not once. It isn't a good-bye, Jack."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"When I told you I loved you the first time, in the water," she said. "You didn't say it back. You said not to say my good-byes, but that's not what it was. I just needed you to know, no matter what happened. And if it was my only chance, at least I took it."

"I didn't want you to give up. I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "I was afraid you wouldn't keep going without me."

Rose shivered and pressed herself closer to him. The chill was sudden and unexpected. Goose bumps covered her skin. "Let's go to bed," Jack suggested.

"Will you keep me warm?"

"You know I will," he said.

…..

Things seemed to return to normal during the next few days. There was no sign of Cal. At first this alarmed Jack nearly as much as seeing him. Suppose he was out there, waiting for them to let their guard down? What if this was part of his plan? He didn't tell Rose his suspicions. They sounded crazy, even to him, and she didn't need the added stress. She put on a brave face, but he could see she wasn't feeling well. The pregnancy was taking more of a toll than she anticipated.

The migraine kept returning, and sometimes it brought nausea along. The kind that left Rose lying on the floor, unable to move, stomach rolling and head spinning. She didn't talk about it. She never let her mother or Sylvia see her that way. She was as cheerful as possible in the hope that if she just ignored it, the problem might eventually go away.

Jack kept a close eye on her, but he didn't interfere until the morning he found her sprawled across the bathroom floor. "Rose?" He lifted her up carefully, cradling her head. "Rose, what's wrong?" he asked, concern in his voice. "What happened?"

"I just…I couldn't get up," she said.

"Did you fall?"

"No," she said. "I couldn't stand up anymore."

"What do you mean?" He picked up a damp cloth off the floor. It was clean. He put it across the back of her neck. "Was it your legs? Is it something with the baby?"

"I was dizzy," Rose said. "My head hurt so much, and I thought I was going to be sick. The floor seemed like the safest place to be."

"How do you feel now?" Jack asked.

"Better. I think I can get up."

"You don't have to," he said.

"Jack, I can't stay on the floor all day."

"You can go back to bed," he replied.

"I can't keep doing that," Rose argued. "I'm supposed to be stronger than this."

"It's not about being strong, Rose. It's about what's best for you, what your body needs."

"I didn't have these problems with Sylvia," she said. "I was uncomfortable and sick sometimes, but never like this. Jack, I don't know if I can get through another four months of this."

"You can," he said reassuringly. "Let me take care of you."

"I don't have the energy to stop you."

….

Jack put rose to bed. He darkened the room as much as possible and placed a bowl of oyster crackers and a bottle of ginger ale on the bedside table. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"No. At least I have that," Rose said.

He tucked the blanket around her anyway. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"You need to go to work," she said.

"Work'll be there tomorrow. You need me now."

"I appreciate the thought, Jack," she said. "But you can't stay home every time I don't feel well. You won't see the gallery again until the baby's born if you do that."

"Oh, I'm definitely staying home after the baby's born," he said.

Rose gave him a puzzled look. "Why would you do that?"

"What do you mean?" he said. "It's my baby too. I wanna be there for all the firsts, especially those first few weeks."

"I didn't think men were interested in that. My father never was. He never even held me," Rose said thoughtfully. "That's what I was told, and you know, I don't remember him touching me, really."

"Not me. I won't be like that. I want to spend every second I can with the three of you," Jack said. "I didn't get to know Sylvia as a baby, and I hate it. I'd do anything to get that time back."

"So would I." Her stomach lurched, and she clenched her jaw against the fresh wave of nausea. Why was everything so much worse this time? Her back ached; she wanted to eat but couldn't even stand the smell of most foods anymore. Carrying the baby was so much harder than she remembered. "I don't know if I want more children if this is what I can expect," she said. She laughed, but her eyes were serious.

"Alright," Jack said.

"Really? You wouldn't mind?"

He shook his head. "Two is enough," he said. "It's more than I thought I'd get with you."

Rose squeezed his hand. "You should go to work, Jack."

"Not today. You need me more."

"Jack-"

"I already decided," he said. "Charles, the part-time guy, you remember him? He's been bugging me about getting more responsibility. He can handle things for the morning. I'll go in after lunch for a couple hours, if you're feeling better."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she said.

"I'm not gonna fire myself," Jack said good-naturedly. He kissed her hand. "I'll call the gallery and set everything up. You just read. I'll be back."


	21. Chapter 21

"Would you mind walking Sylvia to school?" Jack asked. He and Ruth were alone in the kitchen.

"I don't mind, but don't you usually take her?" Ruth said. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "Everything's fine. Rose isn't feeling well. I'm gonna stay home with her this morning."

"What's wrong? Is she alright?"

"Dizziness, nausea, mostly," he replied. "More of the same." His concerned was obvious. "She's resting."

'This has been particularly difficult for her."

"I know,' Jack said. He brushed his hair back. "I wish there was something I could do."

"She wants you to stay with her. You're doing that."

"Yeah, but I wish there was more I could do," he said. "I feel like it's my fault."

"You-" Silence fell as Sylvia entered the room. She paused, sensing the mood. Her blue eyes landed on Jack. He flashed a grin. "Morning, Syl."

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "Where's Mama?"

"She'll be up soon," Jack said. "She's still in bed. But she's fine," he added reassuringly. "Really."

He could tell she wasn't convinced, but he didn't know what to say to make her believe him. Jack wasn't sure he believed it himself.

…

Rose opened her eyes. Jack sat down on the edge of the bed. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Didn't mean to wake you," he said softly.

"You didn't. I was awake."

"You should sleep," he said.

"I can't," Rose said. "I'm tired, but I'm also wide awake."

"Do you still feel sick?"

"It isn't so bad now," she answered.

"Really?"

"Really, Jack," she said. "I just need to lie down."

"Got everything fixed so I can stay here all morning. Your mother took Sylvia to school."

"Did she mind?" Rose asked.

"She didn't seem to. She's worried about you," he said. "I think we all are."

"Please don't be. This is nothing I can't handle."

"We love you," he said. "We're gonna worry."

Rose took his hand and placed it over her belly. "Feel that?"

Jack nodded. A smile spread across his face. "Yeah," he said. "And that's the baby? That's really supposed to happen?"

"It's fine. If I wasn't sure, this would tell me everything I need to know. I might feel awful," she said. "But _he_ doesn't."

"I wish you didn't."

Rose laughed. "So do I. I've been wishing it were over already. Jack, I'll be fine by myself," she said. "You don't have to stay."

"I want to," he said. "You shouldn't have to be alone in this. I can't do much, but I can at least be here."

"It means a lot that you want to be here."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," he said.

….

"I'm sure I'll get Viola," Margaret said, with a toss of her hair.

"Maybe," Sylvia said. They sat on the school steps, lunch bags in hand. Most students went home to eat, but Margaret didn't, and Sylvia wasn't allowed to make the walk alone, a fact she kept to herself. Rose would have come to etch her, if she asked, but she never did.

"I'm sure I'll get it,' Margaret said again, more insistently this time. "What about you? Which part do you want?"

"Oh, any of them," Sylvia said. She meant it. Being one of the leads would be fun, but being involved with the play was the most important thing. She could just see herself onstage, just like her mother. What could be more perfect?

"Well, I-" Margaret's eye was caught by the man standing at the edge of the schoolyard. He wasn't looking directly at them, but all the same, she was instantly sure he was watching them.

"What is it?" Sylvia asked. She followed Margaret's gaze. "I know that man."

"Do you?"

"Yes. I've met him," Sylvia said. "He knows my parents."

"What's he doing here?"

Sylvia shrugged. "I don't know."

"Maybe he came to tell you something," Margaret suggested.

"Do you think?"

"Well, he knows your parents, doesn't he?" Margaret said.

Sylvia thought of Rose. What if he'd come to tell her she was really sick? What if it was so bad her father couldn't come himself? Or Ruth? Her palms began to sweat. "Let's go ask him."

"Really?' Margaret said. Sylvia didn't respond. She was already walking toward Cal. Margaret hurried after her.

Cal hadn't expected this. He hid his surprise well. Sylvia looked up at him, blue eyes full of worry. "Why're you here?" she asked. "Did you come to see me?"

"Why, yes, I did." The look in her eyes made him hesitate. What was this child so upset about? Living with Jack and Rose couldn't be that difficult. Cal was sure they were nothing like his parents. He doubted they set unreachable goals or made demands; they didn't have rules about every single thing. They didn't already know what schools she would attend. There wasn't a list of men she could marry someday.

"Is it about Mama?" Sylvia asked.

"What?" Cal said. "No." Sensing this was the wrong answer, he added, "Your mother's fine."

"That's good."

"I was just in the area," he explained. "And I thought I'd see how you were."

"I'm fine," Sylvia said.

"You didn't expect to see me again, did you?"

"Not really," she admitted. "But I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" Cal said.

Sylvia nodded. "I've wanted to ask you some questions. This is my friend, Margaret," she added.

Cal nodded. "Hello."

To Margaret, Sylvia said, "We need to talk alone."

"But Syl-"

"Please," Sylvia said.

"Lunch is almost over," Margaret warned, before returning to the steps. She didn't recognize Cal, but there was something familiar about him. She didn't like it. He brought back all her mother's warnings about strange men.

"What do you want to ask me?" Cal said.

"If you know my mother, you must know my father too, right?"

"Yes," Cal replied. "I know your father. I knew Rose-You mother longer."

"How did you meet her?"

"My family knew hers," he said. "I went to a party at her house. It was her birthday." The memory came back as clear as ever. He hadn't thought about this in years. That pale lavender dress Rose wore. The silver chain around her neck, with the single pearl.

"Was my father there?"

"No," Cal said carefully. "She didn't know him yet."

"I was hoping you could tell me more about them,' she said. "There's so many things I want to know."

"Why don't you ask them?"

"They won't tell me," she replied. "They'll say I'm too young."

"You are rather young."

"I'm almost seven," she said.

"Well then. What if I tell you what I can?" Cal offered.

"But not everything?"

"As much as I can," he said.

A bell rang. "I have to get back inside," Sylvia said. She didn't move.

"I can take care of things. We can talk." Cal held out his hand. Sylvia looked at it. This was what her mother always told her not to do. If Rose found out she'd gone off with a strange man-But he wasn't really a stranger. This didn't count. And he knew things. He had all the secrets.

Sylva took his hand. "Alright."

…..

Ruth didn't come back right away. When the phone rang, Rose was in a light doze, and Jack was lying next to her, slowly drawing. He assumed it was a call from the gallery, but the voice on the other end was unfamiliar.

"May I speak to Rose?"

"She's resting," Jack said. "Who is this?"

"This is Max Gunderson. You must be the husband."

"Yeah," Jack said, confused. "Can I give her a message?"

"Sure. Just tell her I read the play, and I think it's great. Every bit as good as her last one, maybe better. I can't promise anything yet," Max said. "But if she's serious about staging this thing, we can definitely make it happen."

Jack was stunned. When had Rose written another play? He knew she'd been writing, but she stopped when her mother arrived. Didn't she? She never showed him anything she wrong. Now, he didn't know what to think. "I'll tell her," he said. "That's fantastic news. Thanks."

"Who was that?" Rose asked, yawning.

"What're you doing up?" Jack said, putting the phone down.

"I couldn't keep lying there. My back was starting to hurt. And besides, I'm feeling much better."

"You look better," he said. "That was someone named Max. He had news about the play you gave him."

"He did?" Excitement was in her voice. "What did he say? Did he like it at all?"

"He thinks it's great," Jack said. "Better than your first one."

"It isn't." But she smiled, clearly pleased.

"I didn't know you'd finished anything."

"I wanted to know where I stood with it before I told you," Rose said. "If it was terrible, you'd never have to read it."

"That guy could think it's terrible, but I might love it," Jack pointed out. "You wouldn't let me read it if he hated it?"

"Not Max specifically. I just-I wanted neutral opinions first. Yours means so much, Jack. I don't know if I could handle hearing you hate it before I know what anyone else thinks."

"Rose, I couldn't hate anything you wrote," he said.

"Of course you could. Jack, loving me doesn't mean loving everything I do."

"Do you like all my drawings?" he asked.

"It isn't the same," Rose argued.

"Sure it is."

"I love your drawings because they're _good_ , not because you did them," she said. "The pride I feel knowing you did them is something extra."

"And that's how I felt when I saw your play. I didn't know for sure you wrote it," Jack said. "I didn't dare believe it was really you at first."

"Would you like to read this one? I have another copy. It's uncorrected, but it's legible."

"I'd love to read it," he said. "Thank you."

…..

They sat across from each other. Sylvia sipped daintily from a cup of tea. Cal hadn't known what to order for her. Did children eat regular food? She already had her lunch, but from what he saw it was skimpy, hardly a meal. She seemed content with it, though. Now that they were here, in this crowded café, he wondered if he'd made the right decision. They didn't look like they belonged together. No-one would ever mistake her for his daughter, and yet, he mused, she could have been. If things had gone differently. Her hair would probably be a darker red, her eyes brown or hazel, rather than sapphire blue. That was from Jack.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

Sylvia looked at him with a serious expression. It was obvious she was trying to seem older. The whole thing was touching. Normally, he avoided children, including his own. He'd spoken more to Sylvia during the past month than he had his son and daughter in nearly two years. Their faces weren't even clear in his mind anymore, though he knew they looked vaguely like him. He was sure they were his.

"Did you meet my father too?"

"Yes," Cal said.

"Did she really think he died?"

The question took him by surprise. How much had they told her? "As far as I know, she did," he replied.

"And he thought so too," Sylvia said. "That's why they were apart so long."

When he saw Jack and Sylvia, Cal assumed he'd been with Rose all along. Grace's story lacked dates; most of her stories did. It was a way of keeping her true age a secret. "Yes," he said. "That's why."

"Did you know?"

"Did I? No," he said. "I haven't seen your mother in a long time, not since she met your father. We lost touch."

"Were you his friend or hers?" she asked.

"Hers. She was the one I….cared about."

"Did you love her?" she asked.

"I thought I'd marry her. She thought otherwise."

"Do you miss her?"

"I haven't thought much about it," Cal replied.

This wasn't the plan at all. He wasn't supposed to be sharing information with her. She wasn't supposed to matter to him; she was a means to an end. But, almost without realizing it, Cal abandoned the plan. He'd find another way. Surely he was capable of it. Suddenly, using Sylvia felt wrong. He never intended to hurt her, but still, it felt wrong. He couldn't ignore the guilt gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

"Your mother was a beautiful, accomplished, sought after girl," Cal said. "I wasn't the only one who wanted to marry her. I just came the closest. Until she met Jack, that is. She never had eyes for anyone else. Nothing could keep them apart. They weren't together because they didn't know they could be."

This seemed to reassure her. "I've been wondering," Sylvia said. "That's what they tell me, but…."

"But what?"

"What if he wanted to go away?" she said. "What if he decided to go away again?"

"That won't happen," Cal said.

The bizarre nature of the situation wasn't lost on him. Here he was, not only talking with _their_ daughter, but reassuring her about their relationship. Never would Cal had believed such a thing was possible. It made a kind of strange sense, though. Who know more about the strength of their bond, about their refusal to part, then he did? Aside from Jack and Rose themselves, of course. After all, he was the one who tried so hard to break them up. If not for him, maybe they wouldn't be together at all. Without an obstacle, maybe the appeal would have been lost.

But that was just Cal giving himself credit, as he often did, for something that had nothing to do with him.

"Can you tell me anything else?" Sylvia asked.

"Such as?"

"More about my mother," she said. 'What was she like when you knew her? Really like?"

"I can tell you all about that," Cal said.

….

"You don't have to read the whole thing now," Rose said. There was a hint of nervousness in her voice. She sat next to him on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders. The blanket was Jack's idea.

Jack turned the page. "I know," he said. His eyes didn't leave the script. "I want to."

"It's really not-"

He put a hand over hers. "I'll stop reading when I want to," he said. "I like it so far."

Rose didn't want to watch him read, but she couldn't make herself look away. If it annoyed him, he was being a good sport about it. This play was less obviously about herself, but there were still elements from her life sprinkled throughout. Jack was sure to recognize them. One character was based on him. Would he notice? And if he did, what would he think?

Rose studied his face, hoping to gauge his reactions, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He read quickly. His pace reminded her of Sylvia. _That must be where she gets it from,_ Rose thought.

Finally, he closed the manuscript and looked up. "Well?" Rose said anxiously. "What do you think?"

"I like it." He smiled. "It's great, Rose."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, I do," Jack said. "I wouldn't lie to you. I enjoyed reading it. I hope I get to see it performed. It needs to be performed."

"That means a great deal to me, Jack. Promise you aren't just saying all this to spare my feelings."

"Trust me, Petal. I'm not," he said. "I wouldn't hurt you, but I'd tell the truth."

"It's not about me too much?" she said.

"I know what parts are from life," he said. "But I also know you. A theater full of strangers won't have any idea which parts you actually lived, or which characters you based on real people," he added, with a teasing grin.

"Was it that obvious?"

"That Owen guy's your dad, isn't he?" Jack said. "And Edgar's Cal, with some changes."

"Yes, actually," Rose said. "I was referring to Cornelius, to be honest."

"Oh, him. He was alright. Interesting." Jack feigned ignorance.

"He didn't remind you of anyone?" she said.

"Was he supposed to?"

"No, I guess not," she said.

"Was he supposed to be me?" Jack asked gently. She nodded. "Is that how you think of me?" he said.

"Well, he's based on you. He isn't _exactly_ you."

"You made him the hero," he said. "He's-Well, he's better than me."

"I don't think so," Rose said. She laced her fingers through his. Jack kissed her. It was soft and sweet. She put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

"Thank you for showing this to me," he said.

"Well, you show me all your drawings." She laughed.

He kissed her again. "You should lie down."

"Only if you'll come talk to me," Rose said.

"Alright."

They were on their way to the bedroom when the phone rang. "I hope it's not the gallery," she said.

"I doubt it's an emergency," he replied, picking up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Is this the Dawson residence?"

"Yes, it is," he said. Rose watched the color drain from his face. "What?" he said. "She's not? When?" She held his hand. "Do you know anything else?" he asked. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Alright." He dropped the phone.

"Jack, what is it?"

"Sylvia," he said. "She's missing from school." 


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Regular updates are starting again!**

Rose's eyes widened; her face paled. "What do you mean she's missing?" She gripped him with cold hands. "If she's not there, where is she?" Rose didn't notice her voice rising. "Are they sure? Have they checked everywhere? How can she just disapear without anyone noticing? Jack-" She shook her head, at a loss for words.

Jack moved closer. He pressed her hands together, putting his around them. "Breathe, Rose," he said. "We have to stay calm. Getting upset isn't good for you."

"How can you tell me not to get upset? Sylvia is-"

"I know," he said. "Trust me, Rose, I know how you feel, but we have to try and stay calm. It's the only way we'll find her. I'm sure she's fine," he added reassuringly. "She's probably skipping class or off with her friends. Kid stuff, you know?"

"Sylvia wouldn't do that," Rose said.

Jack knew she was right, but he could admit that. "Let's go down there," he suggested. "See what's going on for ourselves."

"Yes," she replied distantly. "That's a good idea. "I'll get my coat."

"Maybe you could stay here. You haven't been feeling well, and this stress-"

"I can handle this," she said firmly. "I don't want to stay here. Worrying, alone...That's worse. No, Jack."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure," Rose said. "I can't just sit on my hands and hope things turn out while she's off somewhere. Anything could've happened." Her eyes were fearful. Jack pulled her to him. He held her tightly, but it wasn't enough, and he knew it.

...

"Hasn't she told you anything about her life?" Cal asked.

"Some things," Sylvia replied. "She doesn't like talking about it. It used to make her sad. Before."

"Before Jack came back?"

She nodded. "So, I didn't ask."

"You could ask him," he pointed out. "Have you?"

"No. Not really. I think, maybe, he'd tell me, but what if he gets upset too? What if..."

"You think too many questions will make him leave again?" he said. Sylvia studied her tea. "I don't believe he will," Cal went on.

"What else do you know about her?"

"I know she's strong willed," he answered. "She doesn't let anything stop her. Even before she met Jack, I could see that. She's independent. Challenging. One of the most interesting people I've ever met. As for your father," he added. "He's rather like her. They were a perfect match from the moment they met. I don't know why I didn't see it coming."

"Maybe you didn't want to," Sylvia offered.

"I know I didn't."

"If they hadn't met, she would've married you instead," she said. "That's strange to think about. Everything would be different."

Cal couldn't help saying, "It might be better."

"I don't want to think that way. How can you be happy if you do?"

"Some people aren't happy either way," he said.

Sylvia looked at him, and this time he saw Jack as clearly as if he were sitting there himself. It ewasn't just the eyes; it was her expresion, so knowing, so much older and calmer than anyone her age should be. He had to remind himself she was only a child. He couldn't just unburden himself to her. He was crazy for talking to her this long. He glanced at his watch. School was nearly over, if his guess was correct. "We should get you back," he said. "I'll speak to whoever's in charge at your school and make sure you aren't in trouble."

"Can you really do that?" Sylvia said, skepticism in her voice.

"Of course I can. I can do anything. Didn't you believe me before?"

"I guess I did," she said. She wanted to. Her curiosity overrode everything else.

"Come on," he said. "We don't want anyone to worry."

...

Of course, it was too late for that. Jack and Rose stood in the principal's office, listening as he attempted to explain Sylvia's disappearance. Rose;s knuckles were white as she squeezed Jack;s hand. He hardly felt his fingers pressing together. She breathed slowly and deliberately, not trusting herself to do anything else. Her eyes hurt, and at any moment her head threatened to burst into dizziness. Jack was the only think keeping her on her feet. Terrible things had happened before, but this felt worse. It was so much bigger than any threat to herself could ever be.

"How long has she been gone?" Jack was asking.

"Since lunch," Harris replied. "We noticed right away."

"Why didn't you call then?" Jack said, an edge in his voice. "It's been at least three hours since anyone last saw her!"

"As I told you before, we assumed she was here somewhere, in the building." Harris mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. Tiny beads of sweat covered his cheeks and neck. "We informed you after we failed to find her," he went on. He'd abandoned all attempts at sounding authoritative. Why bother? He'd clearly failed, at least, partially. If something happened to Sylvia, it would mean his job, and probably any hope of finding another in the city, maybe even the state. Somehow, thinking about his own problems made it easier to focus.

"The police gave been informed," Harris said. "They're on their way now."

"Good," Jack said. He glanced at Rose. She looked into his eyes, and he put an arm around her "It'll be alright," he assured her.

"You're always saying that," she said quietly.

"And I meant it. Trust me, Rose."

...

Harris was relieved when Detective Mills finally arrived. Now he could truly relinquish control and become another anxious bystander. Mills was a short man who appeared tall. He projected strength and confidence, which, along with an easy charm and razor-sharp reasoning skills, had gotten him far in his profession.

"You're the parents?" he said. His voice was smooth.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Do you know anything?"

Mills pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket. "I was hoping you did," he replied. "I've spoken with her teacher, and all she can tell me is she noticed Sylvia didn't come in after lunch. Does she usually eat at home?"

"No," Rose said. "I don't like her to walk that far by herself."

"So, she should've been here the whole time," Mills said, making a note. "Is she in the habit of wandering off? Did she ever sneak away before?"

"No, of course not," Rose said. "This is completely unexpected. It's unlike anything she's ever done. I don't understand. I don't know where she could be or why." _Or with whom_ , she nearly added. That was something Rose didn't want to think about, but she couldn't avoid it. Of course Sylvia wasn't alone. In a city like New York, it was foolish to think she would be. Had she been found by someone, or had she been lured away? And if she'd been found, who found her?

The dizziness broke open. Rose closed her eyes and used Jack's shoulder to steady herself. "Sit down," Jack said softly, his lips close to her ear. She felt herself being guided into a chair. She opened her eyes to see Jack peering down at her, concerned. "Do you need something? Water, maybe?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Thank you."

She glanced over and saw - and Mills speaking in hushed tones. A moment later, the door opened, and Margaret appeared. Rose's breath caught in her throat. The two girls looked nothing alike, and yet, Rose had never been so reminded of Sylvia.

"Miss Deverux," Mills said kindly. "You have something to tell us?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"Come. Sit down," Mills said. "Don't be afraid. If you can help us find your friend, we'd really be grateful. Anything you know is important."

"Sylvia, she left with a man," Margaret said. "She told me she knew him."

"Had you ever seen him before?" Mills asked.

"Maybe. He was kind of familiar, but I don't know him. She said he knew her parents, and it was okay to go with him." She risked a glance at Jack and Rose. Their faces told her nothing.

"Why did she go with him?" Mills asked.

"They were going to talk. He had things to tell her," Margaret replied. "He said she wouldn't be in trouble. He could fix things for her."

It could only be one person. Jack didn't want to believe it. Who else would have made such promises? Cal had already gained Sylvia's trust. That, Jack realized, was his goal all along. _This_ was just a small piece of his plan. He was still trying to get to them. Sylvia didn't matter; she was nothing more than a means to an end.

Jack wished he'd been more direct. Anything would be better than this.

...

Cal offered to take her home. but Sylvia refused. Someone would come to walk her home from school, and if she wasn't there, they'd be found out. He didn't argue. He didn't have to ask her to keep their afternoon a secret. She knew it wouldn't go well if her parents heard about it.

"They don't like you," she said.

"I'm not surprised," was his reply.

"What did you do?"

"Who said _I_ did anything?" he asked. Sylvia just looked at him. "I did many things I shouldn't have," he said. "I don't take disappointments well."

"You sound spoiled."

Cal laughed. "I am. Well, here we are," he added. He gave a little bow. "Thank you for this. I enjoyed talking with you."

"And thank you," she said primly. "For the tea and for answering my questions. You aren't so bad."

"I am," he said. "I can be."

...

Sylvia wasn't with Cal when he came in. Had she been, the chaos that broke out likely would've been even worse. Rose was on her feet; Jack held her arm, trying to keep her back. No voice could be heard above the others. It was an unintelligible chorus of anger and questions. Rose's shoulders heaved with tears, and Jack put his arms around her, stepping between her and Cal.

Mills brought silence down by rapping a book on the desk. "That's enough," he said. "Let's sort this out."

"He's the man Sylvia left with," Margaret said.

"Are you sure?" Mills asked.

She nodded.

Mills turned to Cal. "Who are you?" His tone was brisk. "What's your business here?" He eyed him closely. Nothing about him indicated why he'd be at a public elementary school. Judging by his clothes and bearing, he belonged in another world.

When Cal replied, his words were directed at Rose. "Sylvia's been with me," he said. "She's fine. She's-"

"Where is she?" Rose demanded, cutting him off.

"In the hall. I-"

Rose broke free of Jack's grip and strode over to Cal. Her hair seemed redder than ever. Her eyes blazed with blue fire. "How dare you!" she hissed, bringing her face close to his. "What were you thinking? Is this some kind of game to you?"

"She had questions," Cal said. He knew how inane it sounded. "There were things she wanted to know, and I could tell her."

Rose's mouth curled in disgust. Jack laid his hands on her shoulders. "C'mon, Rose," he urged. "This isn't good for you."

She ignored him. "Are you crazy? You have no right telling her anything! You have no place in my daughter's life! You-"

"Rose." Jack's tone was firm but gentle. She looked at him, not comprehending at first. "You shouldn't be doing this," he said.

"Jack, I have to."

He shook his head. "No. Let someone else. Let me."

"I want to see her," Rose said.

"She's right outside," Cal said. "She's fine."

" _I'll_ decide that," Rose said icily. She glared as she swept past him.

"I shouldn't have taken her," Cal said. "But I-"

He was cut off by a sharp punch from Jack. Cal stumbled back, stunned, grabbing his jaw in pain. He tasted blood. Jack glared at him through narrowed eyes. He clenched his fist but left without another word.

...

"Are you sure you're alright?" Rose asked. She smoothed Sylvia's curls. They'd been home for over an hour, and she hadn't let Sylvia out of her sight yet. Ruth's questions had all gone unanswered, though Jack promised to explain everything later.

"I'm fine," Sylvia insisted. "We just talked. He was very nice."

There was a shadow in Rose's eyes. "No, darling, he isn't," she said. "Believe me."

"He was nice to me."

Rose touched Sylvia's hair again. How could she begin to explain Cal? To explain her history with him? What she'd seen him do? It would mean telling her things she couldn't possibly be ready to know.

"Maybe he was," Rose conceded. She chose her words carefully. "But he isn't a nice person. You can't trust him. You must listen to me. It's not safe to go off with him. What if-" She stopped herself. What if he hadn't brought her back? It was just one of the questions haunting her.

What did he want? Why now, and why make Sylvia part of it? "We're going to have a long discussion about this later," Rose said.

...

Jack curled his arms around her. He rested his chin on her shoulder. Rose stood in the window, staring down at the street. "It's alright," he said. "She's safe."

"She doesn't understand why she can't trust him," Rose replied. "She thinks he's her friend. He told her that. I can't believe this is happening."

"I never thought about seeing him again."

"He's the last thing I ever thought to warn her about," she said. "I taught her to avoid strangers, but this isn't what I imagined." She drew closer to Jack. "I don't know what he wants. That frightens me most of all."

"I know," he said. "I can't figure it out either, except that he knows he can get to us through her."

"But how does he know about her? Or us, for that matter? After all this time, he should've forgotten."

"Have you forgotten, Rose?" Jack asked.

"I've moved on."

"Apparently, he hasn't," he said. He brushed her hair back and kissed her cheek. "How're you feeling?"

"Worried. Unsettled"

"Me too," he said.

"I'm fine, Jack," she said reassuringly. "This whole thing has shaken me, but it's nothing to be concerned about. I can handle it."

"Of course I'm concerned. You haven't been feeling well anyway, and now this? You don't need this kind of stress," he said. "Especially not now."

"Will it ease your mind if I go rest?"

"It's a start," Jack said.

...

Cal wasn't arrested. He suspected, had he been anyone else, he would've been, but under the circumstances, arresting him would have taken more time and trouble than it was worth. He would be out in a few hours, and his lawyers would destroy anyone involved. It was the only way to keep the potential scandal from breaking.

Mills wanted to arrest him. Cal could tell. It was somewhat amusing. He'd seen men in that position before, powerless and frustrated. Usually, he was the cause of it.

That was how he intended for Jack to be, when it was all over. But that wasn't going to happen now. Whatever fragments of his plan that had still existed that morning were gone, swept away by his afternoon with Sylvia. He couldn't explain it; he didn't understand it, nor did he like it.

What was he thinking, letting a child affect him this way? She was nothing to him. She was a pawn, a cog in his plan. And yet, he couldn't think of her that way anymore. She was a person. She had thoughts and feelings. He liked her. Cal thought of his own children as only partially connected to him, at best. They were almost another species entirely. But not Sylvia.

His mind was still full when Grace arrived later that evening. She wore a lavendar dress, and Cal couldn't help thinking of Rose. He pushed her image away. She was the last person he needed to remember.

"Well?" Grace said, spinning around. "Do you like it?" Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun. She was fresh faced and looked younger than he had ever seen her.

"Very nice," Cal replied. He smiled, but his distraction was obvious. She frowned and nudged his leg with her foot. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. I had a peculiar day. That's all."

"Oh really? What happened?" she said.

"I'd rather not discuss it," he said flatly.

Grace's frown became a pout. "Why not? You always tell me what's going on."

"Not this time."

"How are things going?" she asked "With you know what." She spoke in conspirational tones.

"They aren't."

Her eyes hardened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't think I can help you anymore," Cal said. "I tried, but it just isn't going to work."

"But you promised!" she cried indignantly. "You told me I had nothing to worry about! You'd take care of everything!"

"I meant it at the time. Things have changed."

"What's changed?" Grace demanded. "Besides you losing your nerve?" Her voice dripped with scorn. Her mouth curled in a sneer. "I should've known you'd fail. I-" She gasped as Cal grabbed her wrists.

"Don't you talk to me that way," he hissed, bringing his face close to hers. "If I don't want to do something, I won't." His tone became calm, as if he were reasoning with a child. "Do you understand?" He tightened his grip, sending pain up her arms. The urge to shake her was overwhelming.

Grace nodded. "Yes."


	23. Chapter 23

It took a few days, but Jack and Rose finally had a talk with Sylvia about Cal. They kept things as simple as possible, explaining that Rose had once been engaged to him, and it ended when she met Jack, whom she preferred. They left out the details of the sinking, and of Cal's devious, violent behavior toward the both of them. All Rose said was, "You can't trust him. You aren't old enough to know everything yet, but believe me. He isn't what he appears to be." Sylvia mostly accepted this explanation, though she couldn't help wondering just what Cal had done to upset her parents so much, all these years later.

Jack explained matters to Ruth the morning after the incident. As with Sylvia, he kept it simple. He left Cal out entirely, deciding it would just stir up too many unpleasant feelings and memories if he were mentioned. The rapport he and Ruth had established was still somewhat shaky in his estimation, and there was no reason to test it yet. Rose agreed. All he told Ruth was there was a problem at school, involving Sylvia and a strange man. She came to her own conclusions. He wasn't technically lying, but Jack still felt slightly guilty for misleading her.

But then again, he told himself, Cal could have been up to anything. It was a miracle he hadn't harmed Sylvia in any way.

...

Rose twisted the phone cord around her fingers, anxiety buzzing in her stomach. Each ring added another piece of the knot. Finally, Max answered.

"Max, this is Rose," she said, with a smile. "I know it's been a few days since-"

"Rose!" he exclaimed. "I wondered when I'd hear from you. I was starting to think you didn't get my message."

"No, I got it. I've just had a lot to deal with lately," she replied. "I'm sorry. I meant to get in touch with you sooner." She allowed herself to sit back in the chair. "So, Jack tells me you enjoyed the play?"

"I did. It was wonderful. But you know that already."

"I don't," she said.

"You wrote it. You have to know."

"Like many artists, I'm hardly fit to judge my own work," she said, with a laugh. "But you like it, and Jack likes it, so that's encouraging."

"And you're thinking about staging it?"

"Yes. Definitely," she said.

"Good. Good, I think we can work something out," Max replied. "I've been talking to some people, and I've got a theater lined up starting in about two weeks. I didn't really have any projects for it yet, but your script would be perfect if we can get the financing together."

Rose's heart fluttered. "Are you serious?" she said eagerly. "We can start that soon?" She ignored his mention of financing. The money would come together. During her time in the theater, she'd never seen a show fail to make its monetary goals. Some wealthy patron of the arts, or three, always opened their purse. And not to mention, she had a widely respected show to her credit.

"I'm serious," Max assured her. "Do you want me to go ahead and start feeling out potential backers?"

"Yes, of course!" She forced her voice to a normal level. "Please do," she said.

"Why don't you come down to my office the day after tomorrow?" he suggested. "I'll know a little more then, and we can go over the details. Around ten?"

"Perfect. I'll be there."

"Good. And Rose, thanks for sending this to me," Max said. "It'll be good to work with you again."

An elated Rose hung up the phone. Another show. It was really happening. She wasn't going to be just someone's wife, the muse behind the artist; she was going to be an artist in her own right. Her past success hadn't been a fluke. People believed in her work. All those hours spent writing and wracking her brain for the right words, the right names, scenarios, for natural dialogue that flowed easily, all of it hadn't been a waste of time after all.

For the first time in weeks, Rose felt in control again. She could do everything. Be with Jack. Have babies. Make art. And nothing would get in the way. It was all coming together the way she dreamed it would.

...

"I spoke to Max today," Rose said. She added a plate to the stack in her hand. "He called before, remember?" Jack nodded. Ruth gave her a questioning look.

"Let me help," Jack offered, taking the plates from her hands.

"I can do this," Rose said.

"I know." Jack grinned. "And I can help. So, what'd he say?"

"Basically what he told you," Rose replied. "He likes the play, and he wants to talk about doing something with it. He has a theater we can use, and I'm meeting with him tomorrow to discuss potential investors."

"Really? Rose, that's great!" Jack kissed her. He hugged her with one arm. "I'm glad you're doing this," he added.

"So am I," she said. "I need to do this."

"I know you do."

They shared a look, and everything else melted away. For a moment, it was just the two of them. They understood exactly how the other felt; they weren't just friends and lovers; they were two artists connecting.

Ruth cleared her throat. Rose laughed, slightly emabarrassed. Jack kissed her hair. "I'll finish this," he said.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Ruth asked.

"Of course I do," Rose said. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Rose, in your condition? You intend to run around the city, meeting with strange men? Exhausting yourself?"

"Max isn't a strange man. I've known him for years," Rose replied. "We've worked together before. He helped get my first show going. It's perfectly respectable."

"Maybe on your end."

"There's nothing to worry about," Rose said. "And as for exhausting myself, that won't be a problem. I know my limits. One meeting isn't going to overtax me."

"Well, are you at least going to have Jack go with you?" Ruth said this as Jack came back from the kitchen. "Go with her where?"

"To my meeting tomorrow. Mother has some concerns," Rose explained. "I've been trying to tell her everything is fine."

"Reason with her," Ruth said, turning her gaze on Jack.

He looked from one to the other, an urge to step back into the kitchen suddenly upon him. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do, Petal," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But I'll go, if you want me to."

"You don't have to do that, Jack," Rose said. "You have to be at the gallery in the morning anyway."

"I can move things around," he offered.

"You've been doing that a lot lately. Maybe too much," she added.

"It's not a problem. Everything gets done," Jack said.

"That may be, but you don't have to do this. In fact, I'd rather go alone, if you don't mind."

"Course you can," he said.

"It's just, this is my project, and it's still so early," Rose explained. "I want to figure things out on my own first."

"I understand, Rose," Jack assured her.

"Well, I don't," Ruth said. "What kind of woman embarks on a business transaction without her husband?"

"An independent one," Rose said, without malice.

"There's no need to prove anything, Rose," Ruth replied. "I know things are done somewhat differently in the theater, but I can't imagine women in your condition go around putting plays together. Alone."

"Maybe I'll be the first," Rose said. "Someone has to be."

"Don't you think it's unseemly?What will people say?" Ruth said.

"I'm not sure I care," Rose said.

"Opinions matter," Ruth said. "You have to care."

Frustration welled up within Rose, threatening to spill out into her words. She kept her face impassive, and reminded herself her mother was just expression concern. "Maybe some do," she said. Rose hated it, but she knew Ruth was right, at least, partly. Still, she couldn't let that stop her from pursuing her passions.

...

The pain was like a knife between her eyes. Rose's stomach heaved, and the last of its contents were gone. She let herself lean back against the wall, breathing slowly. This had to end eventually. Every day couldn't be like this. She'd never make it through the rest of the pregnancy at this rate.

There was a knock on the door. "Rose?"

"I'll be out in a minute, Jack," she called. She heard him hesitate before walking away.

When she emerged from the bathroom her face was clean; her hair was swept back and pinned loosely, and she wore a fresh coat of lipstick to hide the paleness in her lips. To anyone else, she would have looked fine, but Jack's keen eye saw past the surface. "You alright?" he asked. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," Rose said cheerfully.

"You sure?"

"I was just a bit nauseated," she replied.

"You're still up for the meeting?"

"Of course," she said.

"And you can handle it by yourself?" he said, his eyes still on her face.

"Yes, Jack, I can handle it. Has my mother been talking to you?"

"No. I just wanna be sure you're alright," he said.

"Well, I am," Rose said. "I should go. I'm walking Sylvia to schol."

"You sure you're fine about that?"

"Walking her to school?" she said.

"I mean, what happened," Jack said. "We haven't really talked about it since then."

"There's nothing to talk about. It happened. She's alright. It's over. In the past. I don't want to think about it. We won't hear from him again. Whatever he wanted..." Rose let the thought hang.

Jack put his arm around her waist. "He won't get," he finished. "I'll make sure he doesn't."

Rose let him pull her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent. Gently, he rubbed her back. It felt so good to be held like this. His arm was strong around her, his touch gentle but reassuring. She believed him when he said he'd handle Cal if ever he appeared again. No-one else could've made her believe it, but no-one else was quite like Jack, were they?

...

"Rose! It's good to see you!" Max stood up as she came in. He held out his hand, with a smile. She took it. "It's good to see you too," she said.

"Sit down. Do you need anything? Water?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she said. She'd worn a loose dress on purpose, and now she worried it hadn't helped. Self-consciously, she folded her hands in her lap, covering her belly with her arms.

"You look different," Max said.

"I hope that's a compliment."

"It is. You look fantastic. Marriage agrees with you," he said. "I was worried when I heard. I thought we'd lost you."

"I could never completely give up my work," Rose said.

"Your husband might not agree," he pointed out.

"Jack supports me. He's an artist himself. He understands."

"Really?" he said. "An actor?"

"No," Rose said, shaking her head. "I'm afraid he's the kind you artist you find dull."

"Oh. He paints, does he? Well, we can overlook that since you seem to like him so much," Max replied goodnaturedly.

"How generous of you," Rose laughed.

"Shall we get down to business?"

"Of course," she said.

"I already told you I've got a theater lined up. It's on Aurora and Kent. Small, but I think it'll work. If we're as successful as I hope, we'll move somewhere else anyway."

"Do you really think it'll be that successful?" she said.

"Don't you?"

"I don't like to speculate about things like that," Rose replied. "It's just asking for trouble."

"That's why people like me exist. Someone has to do it."

"You mentioned potential investors on the phone," she said.

"There aren't many, yet, but I already had a few interested in backing a show. Any show. They don't care. They just want credit as _patrons of the arts_." Max said the last phrase in a mock haughty tone. "So, I think I can count on them. One guy's just doing it for his girlfriend. She likes that sort of thing. A Bohemian, art world person," he added. "You know, the way you used to be, before marriage made you respectable."

"I was always respectable," Rose said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm only teasing. I know you were. You never let yourself be seen with me, did you?" There was a wistful note in his voice. His look grew softer, and Rose sat straighter in her chair. "We're friends," she said. "We've always been friends. You know that."

"Yes, I know. Anyway, should I keep making arrangements?"

"Please do," she said. "I want to get this going as soon as possible."

"Eager to get back to work?"

"Yes." Rose didn't add she wanted the show as complete as possible before the baby was born, and she had to leave temporarily. If Max hadn't noticed her pregnancy, she wasn't going to tell him. Not yet, at least.

...

Rose wrapped her arms around Jack from behind. He reached back and gave her arm a squeeze, but his focus remained on the table, where a doorknob lay in pieces. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing forearms that hadn't quite lost their tan yet. His hands maneuvered the small pieces. Rose watched, fascinated by his movements, and by the shape of his fingers. She didn't know what had come over her, but the moment she saw him, she wanted him. Desire burned through her. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wondered if he felt it radiating off her.

But judging by his loyalty to the minor repair at hand, the answer was, unfortunately, no. Jack hadn't the slightest idea of the thoughts running through his head. He didn't realize she was even looking at his hands, much less imagining herself biting the space between his thumb and index finger.

"Jack," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Is it absolutely necessary for you to do that right now?" she asked. She kissed his neck.

"It needs to be done," he said. "The lock sticks."

"But it's a door inside the apartment, right?"

"Yeah," he said.

Rose kissed his ear. "So, it can wait."

"I guess, but-" His words evaporated as she nipped at his neck. Her hand moved across his chest, finding his shirt buttons. "You want it to wait then?" he said, turning to look at her. Rose smiled and nodded. "It can wait," she said.

"Why now?" he asked.

"There has to be a reason?"

"No," he said. "Course not." He pulled her closer; his hands pressed against her back. Rose's heart beat faster. It felt like years had passed since he last touched her. He brushed his lips across hers, and she tilted her head up, kissing him eagerly. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Rose," he murmured.

"We're alone, Jack," she whispered.

"When did that happen?"

"Mother took Sylvia out for tea," she replied. She kissed him again. "They'll be gone for hours."

Jack swung her up into his arms. "Remind me to thank her," he said. Rose laughed. She kissed him as he carried her into the bedroom. Gently, he laid her down. He hovered above her, his hand on her cheek.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

His voice was low. "Nothing. Just looking at you." He kissed her, tenderly, but with a hunger. Rose pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside. Her hands moved across his back, over his shoulders, before making their way down to his hips. One of his hands slipped beneath her skirt, as the other unbuttoned her dress. He caressed her thighs, pleased when she moaned softly.

Jack lifted her up into his lap. She wriggled out of her her clothes. Her curls fell around her breasts, leaving only their soft curves visible. He pulled her closer. He brushed back her hair and kissed her throat. She was so soft. She was perfect. Nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them.

Jack had underestimated how much being alone changed things. They'd had so little time to themselves before. He was more concerened with fitting into their lives now than with anything else. Being with Rose, in whatever way he could, was enough. He never felt like either of them was holding anything back, but as Rose's cries grew louder, he realized he was wrong.

...

Rose's eyes sparkled. As they moved around the kitchen, they found reasons to touch one another. They reached for the same spoon, the same bowl. Their hands brushed, their hips bumped. It was a game. Ruth tried to ignore it. She exiled herself to the dining room while dinner was prepared. There was nothing untoward in their behavior, at least, nothing she could point out, but the feeling around them made her uncomfortable. The air was heavy with pleasure and desire. She didn't want to know what happened while they were home alone, and she fervently hoped Rose wouldn't feel the need to confide in her. Bearing Jack's presence was one thing, but _this_ , well, that was quite another thing.


End file.
